Don't Forget the Rats
by Blackish
Summary: The rats occupying the western coast investigate after one of their own goes missing.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Twelve seasons after they parted, Inka could still remember how the black hairs of Layla's coat glowed in sunlight.

_My dear Aunt,_

_I'm afraid I can't be specific, for fear that this letter will reach the wrong rat._

_Enclosed is an invitation for my wedding. I am sorry that you could not be there. I wanted to ask you, but grandmother would not let me. I send it so that you might understand the nature of the trouble. I am not well. Please come._

"You left me."

Inka shook her head and knelt down in the tall grass. "No, dearest. I left for myself, not because I wanted to leave you!"

"But you did," she replied. "In the end, that's what it was."

Inka looked down into the narrow rift in the ground that ran between them. The dark inside it pulsed, pushing apart the two sides.

"And now," Layla said, as they moved apart. "And now..."

* * *

Salmandaster, otherwise known as Star Station or Star Port, was a beacon of vermin success. Nowhere else in the world could one find such a collection of the leeches of society living peaceful and sanctioned lives.

The true history of the city was foggy, but the popular version, cobbled from both known events and inferences, was that the Behemoth Warlords discovered the mountain long ago and set up a fort from which they could rule the coast and fend off invaders. Then, realizing that no one wanted to fight a bunch of warlords on a mountain, the Behemoth Warlords became just the Behemoth Lords, and then decided that Behemoth Kings suited them better. Their horde of vermin, who had the same shadowy origin as the kings, settled around the mountain. For the lack of vermin-y resources there, presumably things to fight and things to loot from, they searched for other activity. Some of them continued to work for the kings. Others, the rats and the clever foxes, engaged sailors in trade and became merchants. Appropriate is it not, for the leeches of the world to become the leeches of industry? For what is a merchant other than a creature that profits off the work of others?

That was the stance of their neighbors, the woodlanders. Indeed, the city produced little, subsisting instead on those merchant profits that everyone agreed were ephemeral. Salmandaster's wealth did not exist, not in the right way, through farming and industry and hard labor. The whole city had a habit of not existing. The kings didn't quite exist, as they hadn't shown their faces in public for decades. The horde didn't quite exist, as it devoted most of its time to governing the city that didn't exist. Salmandaster ate itself. It was a small flame flickering in the night, ready to go out at any moment.

Near the cusp of the city's death, the smallest warehouse of the Barto trading family was managed by two rats. The less important of these was a willowy female known as Seshy. At thirty-five seasons, she was the only unmarried maid left in the house, and she had resigned herself to a life of working in her fathers' warehouse and staying out of the way. On a slow spring evening, she stood at the door of the warehouse's office, kicking the threshold as she watched a nephew read over her work.

Shalin Barto was typical of the males in her house. He had the same neat features and gray-black fur as his fathers and grandfathers. His work robes, cinched at the waist because they were too big for him, were covered in a flashy pattern of red and white chevrons. All the young males started to dress in that manner once they were given real jobs. Seshy dubbed it 'the uniform of self-importance'. Shalin was different from most in that he had some intelligence, and his new reading glasses were proof of his insufferable bookishness. They seemed natural on his face, allowing his eyes to rove over things with enhanced disapproval. One could forget that he was many seasons younger than her. To Seshy's bitterness, it seemed that Shalin himself had forgotten.

"Hm," he said, holding up the ledger. Seshy looked up, waiting for him to comment. He glanced at her over those new glasses of his. "New signature, hm? Sees Merchant?"

"I thought it was time to put forward a styled name," Seshy said. "Can't have everyone coming in here try to call me Seesew Barto."

"Hmm."

"Are you just going to sit there and 'hm' at me?"

"What's wrong with just Seshy? Sees is rather masculine-sounding, isn't it?"

"Relative to 'Lin Merchant', maybe."

With a tight-lipped frown, Shalin snapped the book shut and stood up. He swept by her and marched down the hall, throwing one end of his sidecloth over his shoulder, mimicking the habit of the patriarch, Barto. He would never be Barto, Seshy thought.

There were two desks in the empty office, facing each other in a way that Seshy used to think was combative. Instead it was that one desk belonged to a supervisor, and one to an underling. One was next to a window overlooking the warehouse, and one had been shoved into the corner by the door, as if it belonged to a secretary.

Seshy went to the one next to the door. From the drawer, she took out the slate she used to practice signatures. In the wood frame of the slate she stashed scraps of paper on which she had tried out names: 'Sesh Merchant', 'Sew Merchant', 'Wes Merchant', 'Seesa Merchant', and so on. There were perhaps three dozen total. She spread the papers out on her desk and sat down, chin resting on fist, to set about finding an alternative name, one less masculine.

Her meditations were broken by a quiet rustling. Seshy looked up to see a ferret in a dress standing by her desk. With a yelp, she jumped to her feet. The ferret rushed to shut and bolt the door. "Sees Merchant," said a female voice. "I like it." A rat was hovering over the desk, examining her names. Seshy's gaze darted from rat to ferret, ferret to rat, as she tried to comprehend what was happening.

"Seshy," the rat greeted, righting herself. "Lovely as ever."

Seshy's paws went to her mouth, and she collapsed into her chair. "Inka!"

Inka Barto had grown into something alien—an oily black thing, with sharp teeth and staring eyes. Seshy might not have recognized her if not for the coat she had on. It was the same one, black with scarlet embroidery, that she wore on the terrible day when she left the house for good. The colors had faded, and underneath that fine coat, Inka wore rags. Feeling tears congest, Seshy brought her sleeve to her eyes. "What has happened to you?"

"I think I'd like cup of tea," Inka said breezily. "It was a long sail," She went to a serving cart by Shalin's desk. "You want one, Eff?" The ferret gave a grunt in response. Inka moved the cart over to them and poured out three cups of the tepid remnants of the pot. She gave the first cup to Seshy. With the other paw, she held out a kerchief.

Tears began to roll down Seshy's face. "You've become revolting, you know!" she cried, grabbing the kerchief.

"And you've become old!" Inka laughed, leaning over the desk to hug her. Seshy squirmed under her embrace, which was accompanied by a fishy, sebaceous smell. She pushed the sister away.

"Spinsterhood has changed you, Seshy." Inka said, looking hurt. She dropped back into her chair.

Seshy sniffed and turned her attention to the ferret, who was busy fussing with the high collar of her dress. She frowned when she realized the ferret was also wearing Inka's old clothes. "Why are you here, Inka?"

Inka took a sip of tea, seeming unaffected by the staleness of it. She stared at Seshy for a moment. "You know, I brought a present for you." She dug into her satchel and retrieved a ball of packing paper.

"Oh?" Seshy said as she accepted it. "Thank you." She unwrapped it, revealing a brooch made of some smoky-looking metal. It was a lozenge half the length of Seshy's finger.

"Rub that ash off," Inka said.

Seshy used the edge of her waist sash to clean the brooch, revealing gleaming brass and nacre inlay underneath. "It's lovely," she breathed. "How can you afford this?" Inka beamed. Seshy narrowed her eyes. "Really, Inka, what is it that you do?"

"Illegal things!" Inka said happily.

The ferret choked on her tea. Inka patted her back as she broke down in coughs. "It's okay, Eff. I'm sure she'll still love us—Won't you, Seshy?"

"Inka." Seshy stood up. "Illegal things?" That was the change Seshy had sensed in her: criminality. It seeped from the both of them, showing in their avoidant manner, their sneaking in, and their slimy appearance even. Inka's frequent smiles became sinister.

"Oh, don't get your spinster undergarments in a wad. I live all the way out in the Isles. No one cares."

"But what is it?" Seshy demanded. "Inka, are you a prostitute?"

"No, no. Uh, what I do is…not much different from what we do here. Let's call it brokering."

"You make it sound so glamorous."

"Ah, Seshy. I missed you most of all." Inka smiled."Let's get to the issue at paw, shall we?" She pulled from her satchel a large red envelope. "This is from Layla," she said, handing over a little slip of paper.

Written in tiny cursive, the letter was a perfect representation of the delicate little niece, Layla. "My dear aunt," Seshy read aloud. Her brows went up. "_My_ aunt? I know she took a shining to you, but that…"

"It's not proper but we'll just have to excuse her for now won't we?" Inka's tone betrayed some irritation. "Keep reading."

Seshy read the rest, and found herself underwhelmed. "Hm," she said.

"'Hm' what?" Inka demanded.

"It sounds unreal." Seshy began carefully. "Supposing it is something, what do you plan on doing?"

"Whatever it is, I'll need to do it as soon as possible. But I want to find out more about this family she married."

Seshy drummed her fingers on the desktop, contemplating why Inka had come to her, a rat on the very fringe of the family. Seshy hadn't been involved with social matters for many seasons, and Inka knew that. She had nothing, only isolation. "...You aren't going to the house, are you?"

Inka reached across the desk to grasp Seshy's paw. "We need to keep this as quiet as possible."

"Inka, I can't lie to Barto."

"Barto doesn't speak to you!" Inka snapped. "You don't have to lie. All you have to do is go about your day without mentioning that Inka was here. We're not working against any of our fathers, we're operating for their benefit. They just won't know that we are. Layla is…something to them, even if she isn't part of the house. She is something to you, isn't she?"

Like misbehaving children, they were sent away to wait in Seshy's home. She lived in a five-story building in proximity to the warehouse. It was a new building, unfinished, which in the coastal city meant that it was unpainted and also lacking the wear and streaks of grime that decorated most places. Her flat occupied the entire top floor, a larger space than the one Barto gave her when she first started living outside the house. Inka understood this to mean that the family had been doing well.

They were taken there by Seshy's aide, a very young and very eager male rat. He was new, in the sense that he was not a servant that Inka remembered from her days living in the Barto household, but in reality he had been working for Seshy for a few seasons. He had heavy features like a northern rat, but the ashy coloring of a black ship rat. He could have been either. Inka assumed he was a ship rat, as her family preferred to hire their own kind for household work.

The servant stopped at the gate barring the stairs and took a ring of keys from the pocket of his apron. He waved to the rat who ran the grocery on the first floor. The grocer waved back, staring wide-eyed at Effy. Effy leaned down to murmur in Inka's ear. "Inky, just how many rats're in this town?"

Inka shrugged. "Rats like to live 'round rats."

When they landed at Seshy's balcony, the servant pointed them to a bucket of water. Civil beasts washed their paws before entering the home of Seshy Barto.

"Well, this is it!" he announced as he threw the double doors open. "It's big isn't it, Mem? Even has a second bedroom!"

"Who stays?" Inka asked, alarmed.

"Just mister Shalin, when 'e works late. But don't worry, I'm sure Miss Seesew told him she has guests tonight."

Most of the shutters were closed for the day, but in the light of the opened door, Inka could see how large the place was. Seshy's entire old apartment could have fit in the front room. The ceilings soared four or five feet above her head, a comfortable height for Effy.

Inka was startled as the servant took her satchel. "Just takin' it to the guest room, Mem." Then, leaning in, he said in a whisper, "Mem, does the ferret stay also?" Inka nodded. "Are ye sure 'bout her?" he asked, "Want me to lock up your valuables?"

Out of instinct, Inka reached for the cuff of pewter bangles she'd tucked under the sleeve of her dress. "No, no I think we're fine."

He sniffed. "Bit gamy, isn't she? I'll put out the incense." He jumped to grab Effy's bag and ran off into the bedroom.

Once he was out of earshot, Effy nudged Inka in the arm. "He keeps starin' at me," she growled.

"I think he might be in love with you, Eff."

Effy recoiled, giving Inka a playful shove. At the noise of their laughter, the servant came from the bedroom, and gave them a nervous smile. "Miss Seesew wishes you to wash up 'fore dinner, Mem," he said, handing them each a set of spare clothes. "There's a bath house up the street." He busied himself opening the tall windows of the front room.

As light entered the flat, Inka noted that the walls had been painted, not in the fashionable yellows that were being imported trough the Isles, but in a cheaper sandy pink that their grandmother might have chosen. Indeed, it was about the same color as the parlor in the old house. "Oh, Seshy," Inka said to herself. "I miss home too."

"You might also take a look up at the roof," the servant was saying as he opened the last window. He did not make eye contact with them. "I'll get dinner started."

"Eager for us to leave, are you?" Inka asked. At the alarm on his face, she smirked. "Shall we, Eff?"

"Sure," Effy muttered. 'S getting awkward."

The roof was accessed by stair, through a hatch in the ceiling of Seshy's porch. It had a steep pitch, but plateaued, creating a terrace where a dozen beasts could stand comfortably. The terrace was secured with a wooden railing around the boundary, and protected from rain by yet another slanted roof on top. Clotheslines had been set up underneath on poles, thought they were empty.

Aside from the buildings and streets that spilled out below, there was also a fair view of the seaside. The outstanding feature on the shore was a single mountain, forever present from all views, whose shadow in the sunset invaded far corners of the city.

"'We bow to him who has his paws in the world,'" Inka recited. "'Though he resides with the sun.'"

"What're you going on about?" Effy grumbled.

"Motto of the city," Inka said. "It's carved in the path up to the mountain. That's where the kings live." She sat down and folded her legs up, resting her head on her knees. "'The rays of this sun are those that close the darkness, and those that light the lamps of consciousness."

Effy was underwhelmed. "Sounds pretty, I guess."

"Effy, have you ever hunted beasts? I mean sapient beasts. Not birds or whatever."

"I've 'ed rabbit once or twice, with me parents."

"But you don't do it now."

"Aw, who hez the time anymore?" she demanded.

Inka pointed at the mountain. "The kings' hunters're all ferrets. Somehow I think you'd enjoy somethin' like that. If it didn't waste your precious time, I mean."

"That why everyone here's scared e' me?" Effy asked. "I mean, wooders are always flighty, but I don' ever see that in rats."

Lights began to go up in the houses and flats below. There was a crowd of beasts around their building, waiting to pick up their grocery orders or use the kitchens. The aromas of dozens of evening meals mingled in the air. Inka spotted the servant on the stairs, carrying up a pot of something. He disappeared under the eaves of the roof.

"Looks like he's getting to work on th' grub," Inka said. "We should go wash up, else Seshy'll have a fit."

Effy pointed down. "Ent that yer sister there?"

"The sister," Inka replied. She leaned out to get a better look and saw Seshy two streets over, accompanied by a young male. "Is that Shalin? He looks so grown up!"

"Looks like an ant te me," Effy said.

"Well, I assume 'e is. Should be sixteen or so by now."

"You don't think she told him 'bout us?"

"I don't think so. She said she wouldn't yet." Inka kept her eyes on the two anyway as they approached, waiting for the small figure to split off from the taller one. The two of them walked up to the building and exchanged pleasantries as they passed by the rats gathered outside. Of course Shalin wouldn't stick around for that, Inka thought. Most of those rats were far below his station. Yet one of the laborer rats did cross over to them. He removed his cap out of politeness and said something to Seshy, raising his paw, palm down, in the gesture one uses to describe tall creatures.

Effy clapped a paw to her forehead. "Aw."

Below, Seshy let out a loud, undignified bark of laughter, interrupting the rat, and pulled Shalin aside. After some terse words, he left.

Inka breathed a sigh of relief. "I think we have her," she said.

* * *

The servant, perhaps because of Effy's presence, had prepared a meat-heavy dinner. Meat to him meant egg, fish, and roasted water beetle—as a concession to the woodlanders that lived upriver, the kings had outlawed consumption of land-dwellers, except by chartered hunters. Grown birds were legal, but were too expensive for Seshy to acquire, much to Effy's disappointment.

Effy and Inka returned from the bath house as respectable beasts without a speck of dirt on them, their fur brittle from cheap soap and their skin rashy from scrubbing. They ate with Seshy by light of lantern around the small round table in her front room. The servant took his meal sitting on the threshold of the doorway, half in the dark. It was peaceable almost, except for the one issue that hung in the minds of the two cousins, and possibly also in the mind of the servant who seemed to be taking an inordinate amount of interest in them. Inka was unsure of how much he knew, and of how much she wanted to say in his presence. She waited for Seshy to talk, thinking that it would give her a clue as to what Seshy had already told him.

Seshy of course was too stubborn to broach the subject first. She busied herself with her food, and the sound of her metal fork on her metal plate was the only noise in the room. Inka watched in silence, chin resting in paw.

"Well, 'ent this a bore?" Effy said. "'What of yer niece? We gonna save her or what?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Inka saw the servant sit up. Seshy looked up at Effy in surprise. It was the first time Effy had spoken in front of her. Seshy put down her fork and sighed. "Well, Inka, what are we looking at?"

"Abusive husband," Effy growled. Seshy stared at her again, fascinated by her manner.

Abusive family is more like it," Inka said. "Abusive mother-in-law."

"Can we just stop assuming abuse?" Seshy exclaimed.

"Why not?" Inka said, "Why else would she be so secretive, eh? Why call on me instead of someone from her fathers' house? Think of what happened to her mother."

"Let's not talk about that now," Seshy murmured.

"What happened?" Effy asked.

Seshy glared at her "I said let's not."

Effy threw up her paws in mocking defense. Inka took a pack of wedding announcements from her envelope and dropped it on the table. "Did you go to Layla's wedding?"

"Ugh. I don't go to weddings anymore. The old wives become more judgmental by the season." Seshy flipped through the cards. There was one for Layla's engagement ceremony, one for her shower, one for her bridal dressing. The final card was an expensive-looking lapis lazuli blue, triple the thickness of the other cards and double the frivolity. Seshy traced a finger over the gold designs embossed on the front flap. Inside it proclaimed, in grandiose calligraphy:

_"Mister Alcenn invites _and family to attend the marriage of his eldest great-granddaughter,_

_Miss Layla Alcenn_

_to_

_Misters Katagan and Bonvar Minua, S/O Bucheff Minua"_

Seshy wrinkled her nose at the distorted spelling of his name. Alsina had become "Alcenn" in an attempt to gentrify himself. He had to, perhaps, to have his name on the same card as Master Bucheff. "She's probably just got cold feet," Seshy said. "You know, strange new house, new life."

"But doesn't it at least make you want to run over and check up on her? Even If she is just fretting about some little thing, do we not love her enough to go and put her mind at ease?"

Seshy threw the pack down on the tabletop. "Why did you have to get me involved?"

"I am braver with a sister than I am alone," Inka replied sagely. Seshy rolled her eyes.

"Now, about this Bucheff," Inka began. "I've heard of him before somewhere."

Seshy sat forward. "Very wealthy, that rat," she said with raised eyebrows. "He contracts with the mountain. I never met them, but Shalin went to the engagement ceremony. According to him, Bucheff was hard to talk to. 'Pompous', he said." Seshy shook her head. "But you know Shalin. Pretentious little brat, probably just got jealous."

"Or maybe he's starting to understand others," Inka said. "A truly pretentious brother would have been impressed by wealth. 'Pompous' sounds about right, for a rich rat."

"Well I say he gets to be as pompous as he pleases." Seshy looked down her nose at the sister. "Remember, Layla has a paw in that fortune now. We should be grateful."

"They've done nothing more than what we were encouraging them to do all along. Rats like them." Inka drew back her lips. "What did we dress for, if not to imitate them? Why were we educated? We do everything, and in return they finally admit that, 'yes, one of you is worthy of us'?" She scoffed. "So gracious."

There was silence again, and Inka skewered a piece of fish with her fork. Seshy watched her with a raised chin. "You'll keep your rants to yourself when we meet them?"

"You want to meet with them? Just walk up to the house and ask to see Layla?"

"What other legal alternative is there?" Seshy asked, putting an emphasis on 'legal'.

"They won't receive us, Seshy." Inka's voice was drained of vitality. "We don't live rightly."

Seshy looked down at her paws clasped in her lap. "No."

"And I really don't live rightly. Maybe you're used to the rejection, but I—" Inka stopped, casting a sidelong glance at the servant, and Seshy realized how uncomfortable she was in his presence.

Seshy turned to the servant. "Pola, feel free to leave whenever you're done. I'll clear the table today."

Pola's face was shadowed in the dim light, but it seemed that he took the hint. He stood up, throwing out a "Yes, Miss", and slipped out. They heard his steps receding on the stairs.

"Thank you," Inka said.

"Don't worry about him," Seshy replied. "He sees the family less than I do. I don't think there's much danger of him telling anyone."

"Why did Barto give you a male servant?" Inka asked.

"He thought it would be safer. Like a bodyguard, without having to pay for one. And I think he wanted something of a chaperone too." She rubbed at the temples of her forehead. "Even out here, I have fathers," she said with a tired smile.

"Barto trusts him that much?"

"Oh, he's very well-mannered," Seshy said. "A bit stubborn, but he'd been working in the warehouse for a while so Barto was fine with it. Does everything too—cooking, housekeeping, all of that. I've no idea where he learned it."

* * *

Polaud, alias Pola, learned it from the old rat widow that lived in the ground floor of the house where he roomed. He walked there in the dimming light, paws stuffed into the pockets of his apron.

Polaud was somewhat disappointed that his mistress had cast him out. Most days, serving Miss Seesew was tedious work. He cooked in the mornings, accompanied her to work, did whatever little errands she needed, brought her lunch, accompanied her home, made dinner, and that was it. Once in a while he would clean or do the wash, but it did not take much time to clean a house lived in by one beast or to wash the clothes of one beast.

But that day was interesting, thrilling even. It was thrilling to watch Miss Seesew talk to someone other than Mister Shalin. Polaud couldn't remember the last time someone in Miss' family had come to visit. It was thrilling, sad but mostly thrilling, to hear of the family drama. And the ferret! Polaud didn't know what to think of the ferret, but she had been something new, and new things in his life were as rare and treasured as liquor.

He hopped over the trash-filled gutter on the side of the street and entered his alleyway flanked close by looming walls. The building was an old-fashioned two-story, the kind that was made of sealed wood and thatch and had a wall around it to screen the house from wind.

When he came home, Toda, the wife of the warehouse forerat, was busy bathing her children in the narrow yard inside the wall. "Hal-lo, Pol-la," she said in a singsongy voice as he opened the gate. Her little daughter sat on a bench in front of her, scowling as Toda scrubbed at her head with a cloth. The older boy sat by wrapped in a blanket, his fur spiked from being dried off.

He smiled at the bored look on the boy's face. Polaud much preferred spending time with the forerat's simple family to being around inscrutable black rats all day. He pulled up a stool and joined them, heaving a sigh of relief as he sat down.

"Been on you feet a lot, 'ave you?" Toda asked him.

"Yeh," he replied. "Miss has guests. I ran back and forth from 'er flat all evenin'."

"Ah, just wait 'til you 'ave babes. You'll never sit again." With a mug she poured water over the child's head. "Who were the guests?" Toda grinned. "Male?"

"Female, the both of them," Polaud replied. He leaned forward. "But one was a ferret!"

Toda stopped scrubbing. "From the kings' hunt?" Her boy gasped, looking up at Polaud with wide eyes.

"No, no." Polaud paused. "At least, I don't think so, she's a foreigner or somethin'." He chuckled. "You should've seen it. She was dressed up all respectabl—"

"Pola!" came a voice. Polaud flinched at the sharpness of the tone. The old landlady, Worle, came to the door. "Come inside for dinner!" Worle was a hardy old bat. With her hoarse voice and bowed spine, she ruled the house and surrounding neighborhood, mediating the petty conflicts of its residents.

"I already ate, Mem." Polaud replied.

"Some tea then!" Worl barked. "You want any, Toda?"

"Ah, no, I've to finish this and take down the wash."

Worle gave a sharp nod, and gestured for Polaud to come in.

He followed her into the darkened, musty arm of the house where she lived. The floor was cool earth, and there were few furnishings save for a table that hugged the ground, a bureau, and a cot in one corner with a stack of hay-filled cushions. Polaud sat down on a stool at the table, and took the tin cup that Worle offered him.

"Now," Worle said, settling down at the table. "What'n the name of Vulpuz do you think yer doin'?"

"Huh?"

"Boy, don't tell me you're one o' those servants who gossips the master's business? And to Toda? That wench'll spread it like the flu!"

Polaud blinked. "Oh? Hm, I hadn't thought of it like that, Mem. But nothing like this's happened before, ever!"

"Talk to me then," she said, "If ye need t' get it out."

There followed a long and uncomfortable silence. Polaud sipped the tea in an attempt to reduce the awkwardness, but grimaced as he found it to be oversweet. The old widow had a habit of making things too sweet or salty. It was something he learned fast after she started teaching him how to cook.

"The ferret, Boy!" Worle urged.

"There's not much else to say 'bout that," he muttered. "Now that I think of it, probably the more important thing is why they came. They say Mem's niece is being abused by her husband!"

"Which niece?" Worle asked.

"Her name was Leela or something?"

"No, I mean how is she related?"

"Does that matter, Mem?"

"With those families, it does," Worle grumbled. "Black rats. How is it that you don't know this yet?"

"I've yet to spend time 'round them, 'cept for Miss."

"You should make it your business to know!" She gave him a light slap on the side of his head. "Yer s'posed to be one of them!" She paused to take a sip of her tea. "Who did she marry?"

A though occurred to him. "Mem! do you know anyone that works for a rat named Buchiv? I think he's the one that Mem's niece married?"

"Bucheff?" Worle squinted. "I suppose I ought to, but it's been a long time since I was in service. You might ask around...ask Winder about it. Prolly he knows some rats in that area."

Polaud stood up. "That's a good idea." He made for the door. "Thanks, Mem."

Worle put her cup down hard on the table. "Pola," she said. Polaud turned around. "The rat you're lookin' for is a serving maid. If ya want ta get to the niece, you gotta find a female that works in the house. She'll be a black rat, prolly a new hire, if she exists."

* * *

**A/N:** So there's that nonsense that I've been working on for the last week. Full disclosure: I have no idea where this is going, but it seemed a concept worth pursuing, and I thought it would ease me back into writing. The result is a bit choppy, but I'll live. I'm trying to write this in a more distant manner, which is new to me, so feel free to criticize, I'm open to suggestions.

**ETA:** Beginning has changed slightly, thanks to input from Jade TeaLeaf. It's less mysterious now, but also clearer, I think.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

It was the judgement of the woodlanders that though the city wore a mask of civility, it retained a verminous character that would never change. The most egregious example of said verminy was the Horde's relaxed treatment of murder.

Warranter the rat was one of those gatekeepers of civil murder. That is to say, he was one of the beasts that could certify private contracts involving blood payment. He also certified contracts involving exchange of money or land, but that was not as impressive-sounding as blood payment. He was a warranter, a footsoldier of the civil service, and he was the first Juska member in the city to carry a charter from the Horde. With his newfound notoriety he gathered around him a small tribe of misplaced males and the lot of them made their money warranting for the illiterate inhabitants of the tribal settlement in Second Radiant. Out of pride for his achievement, he had taken the informal name of Warranter, and his tribe became the Juskaranter.

"Why Juskaranter?" The weasel sitting across from him asked, "Why not jes Juskawar?"

Warranter's nostrils flared. "Did I ask ye yer opinions?"

"Well I didn' ask ye 'bout yer life story either," the weasel replied.

Warranter did not have a comeback for this. "That be cold thinkin' there, Bres."

The weasel nodded and clasped his paws on the table. They, the weasel, the warranter, and a stoat, sat at a grub house on the edge of what might be called a square. It could be called Tribal Square. Although it had no such official name, the irregular little courtyard with a statue of a wildcat in its center was where tribal beasts tended to gather. Warranter put down his cup. "Alright, enough this chit-chat." He wadded up the wrapping paper that had held his meal and tossed it aside. "Ahem. Les get to it then," he said, tapping the document before him with a skewer. "This document says yew, signee, will owe sum numberin' four hundred copper tabs as recompense fer the blood ye spilled, are we clear?"

The weasel nodded.

"And in the event that ye go about slayin' Kazan's beasts agin..." Warranter gestured toward the stoat on his right. "...Kazan gets t' claim yer land and must receive three of yer beasts for sanctioned sacrifice."

"What manner o' beast?" Bres asked.

Warranter paused, and flipped through the papers. "Hellgates, it don' say." He looked up "Ye gon' use yer judgement. Bres, Kazan." He nodded at each of them. "What do ye feel is an 'ppropriate type a' beast?"

"No weasels," Bres said.

Kazan frowned at him. "My beasts ye killed were weasels. Tis only fair I get to kill some weasels."

"Well then you'd jes ask te kill me!" Bres yelled, paws in the air. He turned to Warranter. "I k'nt deal wid dis no more!"

Warranter put down the papers. "Well, if'n you agree to truce another night, we kin resume on th' morrow."

"Agin?" asked Kazan.

Bres flared at him. "Agree, ye bastard!"

"Fine," Kazan grumbled.

The weasel pushed his stool back and got up. "An' there better be editin' ink when I get beck tamorrow, rat!" he growled. "No more delay! After this."

After he left, Kazan turned to Warranter. "There! Ye hear that? I'm the bastard, eh? He kills m' workbeasts an' instead a havin' him arrested, I do all this trouble gettin' a warranter, and he treats me like I'm unreason'ble." He slammed his fist on the table. "You see wad I put up wid?"

"Well, ye killed his beast first." Warranter replied. "An' les admit it, ye were prolly plannin' on killing 'im too. I'll see ye tamorrow? Unless you wanna hear the story 'bout m' certif'cation ceremony?"

"Hellgates, no!" Kazan jumped up.

"Hmm. G'bye, then," said Warranter. He watched the stoat leave with a look of sadness, and then he turned around to look at his tribe sitting at the table behind him. They were two rats and a weasel, dressed in ill-fitting short robes, a uniform of sorts for low-level civil servants. "Ye all gonna leave yer chief lonely like this?" Warranter asked them. In a smooth, practiced shift, the three moved over to join Warranter, leaving a fourth rat, a yet unimportant visitor, sitting alone.

"Alright," said Warranter. "We' changin' our name."

"Agin, Chief?" asked the smallest rat, known as Records. "Was wrong with Juskaranter?"

"It sounds stupid." Warranter waved his hand in the air. "We ent a buncha ranters, are we?" The beasts around him nodded in agreement. "So from naow on, we're not the Juskaranter." He paused for effect. "We're the Juskawarranter!"

There followed silence from the group. The weasel, known as Rhibs, spoke first: "Ehh, I dunno. Its even longer."

"I'm sure if'n we let our ears adjust, mebbe we like it more?" said the big rat, Larkert.

"So kin we at least try it out?" asked Warranter.

The beasts around him gave reluctant nods.

"Good." Waranter sat back. "What orders a' business do we 'ave t'day?"

From his belt, Rhibs the weasel took out a folded piece of paper. "Pola here to see you," he said, reading from it. Rhibs pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "He's back there."

The group turned their attentions to the other table. Polaud waved at them. "Didn't see ya there, boy," Warranter said. He nodded to the weasel, "Let him in."

Rhibs turned around on his seat. "He will see you naow."

Polaud crossed to them, bringing his seat with him. Rhibs scoffed as the young rat wedged in between him and Warranter. "Well, I've a delicate matter to discuss with ye, Winder."

"Is Warranter, boy," said Warranter. "And have you tried burying it?"

"No, it's a different sorta matter." Pola looked around, then leaned in to the table. The others leaned forward as well. "I wanna find a beast that works in the house of Bucheff the tradin' rat."

"What for?" Warranter asked.

"M' mistress 'as a relative that married him, an' they think she's in some trouble."

Rhibs put a paw to his heart. "Well bless 'im," he said to the others. "Pola 'ere wants ta rescue himself a pretty lady rat." There were laughs around the table.

"That's right," said Pola. "I do." The laughter subsided, and Rhibs folded his arms, giving Pola a sneer. The young rat went on, "'M not gonna pretend I don't. Mem Worle said ye could help, Mister Warranter, sir."

Warranter sat up straight, chin raised. "Well, I do recall that name. Buchif, right? Records, they in our records?"

Records the rat replied, "Gorts signed 'is land to one Bucheff Merchant. We wrote n' sancshoned a deed fer him te hand over as he didn't have one—informal occupant, he were. T'were a month ago or so."

"Hmm, I remember that," Warranter said. "T'were strange case. We nev'r saw the other party."

"Merchant valued 'is privacy," said Records. "Sorry, boy. I dun think you'll get gossipy servants outta that house'old."

Pola's ears flattened. Warranter placed a paw on his head. "Now, I'm sure there's somethin' we kin do fer him. We don' build business by refusin' ta help beasts. Why not get 'im ta Gorts? Rat was the merchant's neighbor, he'd know somethin'."

"That'd be great, chief!" Pola said. Warranter beamed.

"Gorts lives in first ring now," said Larkert.

Pola's smile fell. "Well, if that's what it takes..."

"We'll go with ya, boy," Warranter said.

"What?" Rhibs said. "I'm not gonna go ta first ring. Th' hunt has yet t' come out teday!"

"Eh, don' worry 'bout it," Warranter replied. "Smart rat kin outwit any ferret at nighttime."

"Yeh, that dun 'ave relevance here," Rhibs muttered.

"Ye shouldn't go," Records said. He turned to Warranter. "Chief, th' more manner o' beasts in the party, the more likely we attract dem hunters."

"How do ye figure that?"

"The ferrets 'unt one kinda beast each day. Say you've rats in yer group. If the ferrets 'ave orders t' hunt rat tonight, yer in danger. If not, den yer fine. But say ye have rats and weasels with ye—you'd attract 'em if they be huntin' either."

"'How do ya know that?" Warranter asked him.

"They been doin' a campaign 'bout it."

"Who? 'Bout what?"

Records shrugged. "I dunno 'xactly. Some beast. The huntin' policy leaked, n' now they been talking 'bout it all over town."

"But even if ye have other species with ye, they'd only kill one?" said Warranter. "So yer in the same amount of danger."

"Yeh, that's if yer not the beast they're after!" Rhibs snapped. "If th' rats don't die, then the weasel might."

"An' we want a small group," said Records "Large packs'll attract them ferrets too."

"So I'm out," Rhibs concluded. "Goin' home naow. Luck, boy." With that, he hopped off his stool and wandered off.

Warranter looked from Records to Larkert.

"Not me," Records said quickly. "Liddle ol' me. I'd do ye no good." He stood up and began to walk away.

Larkert glared at him as he retreated. Warranter watched impassively, flicking the skewer still in his hand. Records was a coward, but in Warranter's mind, there was no other expectation. There was no way a rat like Records, scrawny and bullied, could be anything other than a coward. Warranter glanced at Larkert, who was just the opposite. His size had made him brave, placid, confident that nothing could go wrong. "Looks like yer coming with us, Lark," said Warranter. "_Serves him right"_, he thought. "S_erves him right for being so lucky_."

* * *

On cold nights, the street gutters of First Radiant filled with fire. It was teamwork on part of the poor residents that occupied the ring closest to the mountain. They needed to keep warm, but smoke and light attracted ferrets. So through some unspoken agreement, or perhaps just out of the need to help fellow beast, it was the custom of the residents to light many fires, totaling thousands, throughout the ring. The hunters couldn't count on a fire signaling the presence of prey, and beasts could move quickly from fire to fire if needed.

The trio of rats stuck to small streets lined thick with shacks and crude, low houses. Their vision filled with the glow from the gutters. As they were expecting a hunt that night, most beasts stayed outside and crouched around the fires, their shadows thrown up on walls as they warmed their paws or heated food. Their quiet chatter created pleasant noise in otherwise tense surroundings. On encountering such groups, Larkert would join them, and ask if they knew where to find a beast named Gorts.

In their search, they passed a few locked warehouses, and many other open, defunct buildings that housed squatters. They crossed the gate of one such building, expecting to cut through without trouble. Larkert pushed on the wide wooden doors, wincing at the loud creak they made. Inside there was a clear path to the other exit, flanked on both sides by a crowd of shanties, an extension of the street outside. Like every other place, it was alive with flickering light. Unlike every other place, it was dead silent.

"This don' look so good," said Larkert. Even a brave rat retained a sense for danger. It was the mark left in him by his ancestors.

They backed away from the door, and went out into the street. They rounded the wall, and found that the street on the other side was empty as well. Warranter and Larkert traded a look of puzzlement, and began to head back. Somewhere nearby, there was a brief, loud clanging of metal, a warning.

"Is it the ferrets?" Polaud asked.

"Shh!" Warranter hissed. They came out onto the front street again, finding that it had also emptied. The clanging sound came another time, and Warranter realized that it was meant for them. He gestured for Polaud to follow him and slipped into an alley that was open, where he could see dwellings on the other side. They darted along the narrow inner streets, taking as many side routes as they could find, hoping to put distance between themselves and the abandoned area.

They squeezed through a small gap between two buildings, and found themselves faced with a wall at the other side—a dead end. Larkert came to the front, pushing Warranter aside. He gestured upwards, and kneeled down. Warranter nodded in understanding. He clambered onto his shoulders, and Larkert hoisted him up, allowing him to latch onto the top of the wall.

Perched on the wall, Warranter glanced back in the direction they came. All he saw was the maze of empty streets and houses, glowing yellow from the abandoned fires. In the other direction, it was the same. "Hellgates," he said to himself. Shaking, he gestured for the other two to hurry, and lowered his paw to help Polaud. After Pola had clambered onto the wall, Larkert jumped up, and the two others caught onto him. They were almost yanked down from his weight, but they heaved until Larkert could hook his arm on the edge and pull himself up.

Warranter pushed Polaud off. The young servant hissed as he landed, tumbling, on the dusty ground of the other side. The other two jumped down behind him. Polaud stood up, dusted himself off, glared at Warranter. The three of them exited the alley, and found that the street outside was blocked off by wooden shacks.

"Hells," Larkert said under his breath.

Polaud began to head toward one of the larger dwellings.

Warranter grabbed onto his wrist. "No!" he whispered. "Stay outside!"

"We kin go through?"

"We'll climb over!"

Larkert, his breathing heavy from exertion, tapped Warranter on the shoulder. "Boy's right. There'd be 'nuther exit. Or we can jes punch through. Place looks flimsy."

Warranter glared at him for a moment, then nodded.

They went in through the rickety door made from wood planks. Inside, much of the dirt floor was lined with layers of blankets, telling Warranter that it was a place where beasts slept. There were two more exits on the other side, large windows left open after the beasts had run off. The rats hopped out, finding themselves in yet another narrow courtyard surrounded buildings. It seemed that they had gotten into the heart of the settlement, far from the proper street. There was another clanging alarm from somewhere in the distance.

Lucky for them, Larkert and Polaud had been accurate in guessing that dwellings had more than one exit. Most did, as they soon found, and some were more breezeway than building. It was a necessity in that part of the city where beasts had to be able to slip out fast. The three of them went in and out of abandoned homes without trouble.

Crossing perhaps the tenth open threshold, Polaud whispered, "I think we're lost."

"Somehow, I don' mind," replied Warranter.

It was when they found homes that were occupied that they realized the hunt was over, or had at least passed their area. Beasts would only come back if they thought the ferrets had left.

Larkert invaded the first such reoccupied home on accident, and to the surprised looks he got from the stoat family within, he said, "Sorry, we're bein' a bit slow on th' uptake. Do ye know how ta get te the main street? We're lookin fer a beast named Gorts."

By the time they found someone that could tell them where he was, there were few hours left in the night. They arrived at his house, a low brick building sunk into the ground, and knocked at the narrow doors. They heard the bolt click, and the door opened an inch. Wary eyes looked up at them from inside.

Warranter leaned down. "Hi, Gorts."

The eyes blinked in surprise. The doors opened fully. "Winder!" said the rat inside.

"Warranter," said Warranter.

"Come in, lad, come in!"

Warranter hopped down; the house proper was a good half-level below the street.

"Never 'xpected ye!" Gorts was saying. "We never get visitors from th' old ring. Always too 'fraid of the ferrets."

Warranter looked around. "What sorry beast gave ye that excuse? The ferrets come te our ring sometimes too. No reason ta forget e friend."

Polaud sniffed. "What's that smell? Spirits?"

Gorts went to a stack of crates in the corner. Patting them, he said. "Got a liddle delivery teday. Wife's out getting' the rest. Who's yer friend, Winder? Not from the Horde, is 'e?" Gorts laughed.

"It's Warranter," said Warranter. He placed a paw on Polaud's shoulder. "An' this is Pola. He wanted te see ye."

"Mister Gorts," Pola said, giving him a well-practiced bow.

Gorts placed a paw on his chest, surprised and flattered at the formality. "What can I do fer ye, lad?" Warranter smiled; the boy knew how to get beasts on his side.

"You lived near a rat named Bucheff," Polaud began.

Gorts' face soured. "That I did."

"Did ye know 'is wife?"

Gorts frowned. "Sila?"

"I thought it was Leela?"

"Were two wives in that house, Lad," Gorts replied, teeth bared in distaste. "One was that lard vat, Sila, wife to Bucheff. An' the new one he bought fer his sons was called Layla."

Pola lost track of his questions. "Bought?"

"Ye don' know? Them tradin' rats pay fer their brides," Gorts growled.

"Oh," he said, voice faltering.

Warranter's blood went cold as he was reminded of something. "Slavery is illegal," he said automatically. The other rats looked at him in alarm. Slavery was most illegal. The woodlanders could tolerate a lot of the habits of vermin, but slavery was the one that was banned from the get-go. Slavery was the one that carried a punishment of lifetime imprisonment in the dungeons of the mountain. Warranter clicked his tongue. "I mean, I s'ppose it's not officially slavery 'less the wives 're forced to work, but still. Sellin' beasts is treadin' a fine line."

"Well, of course they don' call it that," said Gorts. ""Reverse dowry", is what they say." He turned to Pola. "Well, lad, which one're ye talkin' of? Sila or Layla?"

"Layla!" Polaud leaned forward. "How was she? Ever notice anythin' strange?"

Gorts scratched his head. "Well, she was ver' quiet. Left the house a lot, but didn't talk t' anyone." He put a finger up. "But there was a rumor goin' round when I left that they locked her up. She weren't s'posed to leave th' house, but she did so they locked 'er in."

"Not any truth to 'em, is there?" asked Warranter.

"Well," said Gorts. "She stopped leavin' th' house."

* * *

**A/N:** So, I hoped you enjoyed that action-y footage of some rats running away in fear. Can you tell I had fun writing this chapter? I did have to cut it short and move some of it, since I'm trying to cut down on the length of each chapter.

Sidenote: I think the vermin accents broke my spellcheck. :P

To Hamlet, my sole reviewer so far: thank you for taking the time to review, it means a lot.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3**_

Inka found herself restless in the mornings. In San Petra, she had adapted to Effy's schedule: work in the gray hours, and sleep in the black and white. Exhausted that day from travel, Effy slept in the gray hours as well, and Inka was alone on the slanted roof of the terrace.

The streets at dawn were sluggish. Seshy lived in the foothills, quite distant from the heart of the city, and no proper morning market existed because none of the peddlers bothered to make the trek. There was no great population there either. Most of the rats seemed to be laborers that worked in the warehouses or moved goods inland.

Aside from the ever-responsible Seshy, only the grocer's family was awake, busy moving delivery into their little slot of a warehouse. Watching them, Inka was reminded of childhood on the upper veranda of the Barto home, where Gausal once lifted her up over the screen to let her get a better look at the peasants.

The one other sign of life was a creature, a black ant, running towards their building. Inka squinted. The ant was Pola the servant. From far away, his height obscured, it was even more apparent to her how bulky he seemed, how grounded his movement was. Seshy had told her that he was a black rat, yet he had none of the characteristic sharpness in visage. Inka decided she disliked him, and not just because she was suspicious of his identity. He was an intruder in the home, in the reunion of family.

Inka stood, hiked her skirt up, and leapt down to the terrace. Downstairs, she stopped at the doorway and looked in on Seshy, who was preparing to leave for work.

"Oh, there you are," Seshy said as she slipped a kaftan over her shoulders. "Listen, would you make sure to open the windows and keep your friend in the bedroom? I don't want Shalin to come in here on accident and there's ferret smell all over the place. Somehow, it's gotten even worse since she bathed. Is that normal?"

"It's not that bad," Inka said, brows knitting together. "And you want to talk about offensive things? Your boy is downstairs."

"Oh, good, he's early." Seshy breathed a sigh of relief. "He forgot his keys yesterday. I was getting worried we would get held up and be late."

"Tardiness is truly the worst fate to befall any beast."

Seshy took Inka's paws, clasping them tight inside her own. "You won't do anything yet, right? I'm sure Shalin will be able to see her."

Inka nodded. "One day, that's all you get. If he doesn't have news of her by nightfall…"

"I'm sure they'll let him see her. It's just a matter of getting him to go." Seshy let go of her and tucked her keys into her wide waist sash. She went out and down the stairs. Inka followed, intending to scrutinize the servant once more.

Pola waited for them at the bottom of the stairs, leaning on the gate. He resembled a prisoner with his irritated face pressed against the bars and one paw hooked on the bolt.

"Miss," He said breathlessly, looking up at them. "Mem. I've somethin' important to tell you 'bout our Layla."

"_Our_ Layla?" Seshy repeated, incensed by the endearment.

"I went 'n'…" He paused to inhale. "...I talked t' Bucheff's neighbor. 'E tol' me that she's been locked up."

"What?" hissed Inka.

"They're th' rumors, Mem."

"Oh," Seshy said. "Just rumors then."

"But they say she's not been seen fer a month," he replied.

"We have to go, Seshy," Inka said. "Immedately."

"They're rumors," Sehsy replied. "And even if they're true, locking up a new bride is, uh, strict, but it's hardly something to worry about. At least she's safe in the house."

"We are going." Inka began to head up the stairs. "I'm going t' go wake up Effy. You can come with us or not."

Seshy watched her, fretting about what she was going to do. Perhaps she would break into the house, or something else dramatic, and then she would be arrested and the Barto house shamed once again. "Inka!" she called. "I'll go with you."

Inka turned around, ears perked in a haughty, exaggerated, 'I'm listening' pose.

Seshy went on, "They'll be more likely to receive us if we both go."

Inka thought for a moment, and replied,"And they'll _have_ to let us in if we're genuine relatives. Married ones."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean to compromise." Inka flashed a bright smile.

* * *

Inka asked herself what it meant that one of the most important rats in the city lived in the second ring. She supposed they didn't have to worry about ferrets, since there was a gilded royal badge in the gate of the house, but a rat of Bucheff's wealth could have bought land anywhere. They must have been lonely there, considering that all the other big trading families lived far from the mountain. Inka came to the conclusion that Bucheff liked to be alone. In a rat, such a quality was intimidating, or strange to say the least.

The Minua house was smaller than it should have been. Even the Bartos, a family of lesser means, had a sprawling home that caused bottlenecks in two streets. Bucheff's house was taller at three or four stories, but its footprint could have fit in Barto's courtyard.

What it lacked in size, it made up in grandeur. While the Barto home looked like any row of buildings from the outside, Bucheff's house stood alone like the royal mountain, and was enveloped in decoration like the palace of the Renart in San Petra. The walls boasted colorful medallions as tall as otters, and the gate was lacquered in a glossy red. It was as though the house itself had dressed up in silk robes.

The three rats and the ferret in a dress lurked in an alley down the street. They had decided to wait until at least the males had gone to work, because more frightening than the building was the idea of facing an entire family.

Seshy was dressed in her very best day gown, as her heavier work clothes were too plain for their disguise. Inka dressed in Seshy's second best, hemmed up on the fly to suit her height. She could not remember the last time she'd touched fabric so soft. It was fine, gauzy muslin, like breeze between her fingers.

"You might stop doing that," Seshy whispered, as Inka rubbed her sleeve against her cheek for the hundredth time.

From the folds of her waist sash, Seshy took out the brooch Inka had given her, and pinned it with care to her mantle. Inka gave her a quizzical look, and she explained, "I was afraid of it being stolen." Inka nodded in understanding. Though it had been a long time since she'd worn fine muslin, it had been even longer since Seshy had jewelry. Her mother had confiscated everything when she left the Barto house, because why should a spinster need jewelry when the other daughters in the house could use it? Seshy was rarely allowed frivolous things. Even the fine dresses they wore were old.

Yet respectable traders' wives, which they became for that morning, did not go out without jewelry on. Inka's pewter things were too cheap to be decent, and Seshy had nothing to give her, so Inka tied a scarf around her head and neck to disguise the fact that there was no jewelry there. These were measures taken to make them seem like proper females who had a place in society. Even Pola had been given one of Shalin's coats to make him look like a higher-ranking servant.

"Yew look…fluffy," Effy observed, leaning on the wall and folding her arms.

"We look respectable," Inka corrected her. She grinned. "Too respectable. Even I'm starting to trust us."

Seshy put a finger to her lips for silence. "Keep it down," she whispered. "Whoever's in these houses might overhear."

"And whispering is more suspicious than talking," Inka replied. "But yes, let us avoid saying incriminating things, everyone."

In the late morning, Bucheff Minua left for work with a male servant at his side. Polaud was surprised by this plainness. From all the talk of a powerful trading rat, he had pictured someone tall looming over him, sleek and proper and handsome, like a male version of Miss Seesew, but Bucheff was of modest height. Even his servant was taller than him. Perhaps most disappointing of all, he had developed the hefty gut that males were prone to in middle age.

"He doesn't have any brothers, does he?" Inka asked.

"Brothers? Er, he had one," Seshy replied. "Died at a young age. Terrible, to have to be alone like that."

"Mebbe that's why he locked 'is daughter-in-law up," Polaud said dryly.

Seshy and Inka turned to stare at him.

"What?" he asked.

Inka shook her head, and turned back to watch Bucheff. "Do you see that, boy?"

Polaud was startled when he realized she was addressing him. He had thought before that Mem did not like him much. He leaned forward eagerly to look over her shoulder. "What am I seeing, Mem?"

"Him. Look at the way he walks, look at how he looks straight ahead. Pays no attention to the things around him, only stares exactly at where he's going. Says a lot about him, doesn't it?"

"I s'ppose it says—"

"It was a rhetorical question, Pola," Seshy said. "We've talked about those."

Pola's ears flattened. "That's right, Miss. I'm sorry."

"Grief, rat!" the ferret said to Seshy. "Could ye be any more of a stick?"

"It's fine, Seshy," Inka said. "I want to know what he thinks."

"It's not him thinking if you've already directed his thoughts," Seshy replied.

"I think he's short," Polaud said, attempting to lighten the mood.

Inka let out a snort of laughter. Seshy narrowed her eyes at him, mouthing, "What?"

"Honest," Pola said. "That's what I thought of, first seein' him."

"Analytical brilliance, that was," Inka said.

"I don't know what that means," replied Pola.

"Means you're smart." Inka reached up to pat him on the shoulder. "An' a rat who admits that he doesn't know something is smarter yet. How old are you?"

Pola had never bothered to keep track of his age, so he guessed. "Sixteen, Mem."

"Good on you," Inka said. "At that age I was nothing."

"You're still not much," Seshy muttered.

"What was that?" Inka asked.

"Nothing," Seshy replied lightly. "Just like what you were."

Later in the morning, one of the sons appeared at the gate. He was taller than his father, drowsy-looking, and lean with adolescence. Instead of leaving in the same direction as Bucheff, he went to a nearby construction site, where he stopped to speak with the forefox.

"What're they buildin'?" asked Effy.

"Expanding the house, maybe." Seshy replied.

Inka frowned. "That far?"

The construction site was on the other side of the wide street, opposite the house, in what Polaud realized must have been Gorts' old home, among others. He felt anger flare up in him, seeing the gutted emptiness where small houses might have been. He knew Gorts had been paid for the land, but he suspected that the trading rat had muscled him out. There could be no other reason, because beasts such as Gorts held onto their land for dear life. It was impossible for them to afford homes in Third or Fourth Radiant, and the fifth ring was too far for them to do business. Forcing the rat to move was as good as throwing him to the ferrets, because he could only go closer and closer to the mountain.

"What do they need to expand for?" Inka was asking. "If he has no brothers and only two sons, there can't be that many rats in the house."

"Why do any rich beasts do ennythin'?" Effy said. "'Cuz they can. This the husband?"

"One of them," replied Inka.

"E' looks young. Younger n' yew, servant boy."

"Looks like he's about to leave," Seshy said. She bit her lip. "Are we ready?"

"Now?" Inka asked. "You don't want to wait for more of 'em to leave?"

"I don't want to have to build up my courage again. We should go now."

"So we will," Inka replied. She turned to Effy and gave her a mock bow. "Take care now."

"Yew take care," Effy retorted. "I'll meet ye at that statue."

One by one, the rats left the alley in a small parade. Effy slunk deeper in, and exited on the other side.

Inka gravitated to the front of her little posse. Seshy fell behind on one side, and Pola on the other. Seshy had to put a paw out to hold him back. Due to his inexperience, he walked too close to them for propriety.

The gate dwarfed them, compelling them to halt three feet away. Inka reached out to the badge and knocked, creating a tap-tap-tap noise that attracted the attention of the beasts working the construction site. Two female stoats, transporting bricks in baskets strapped to their backs, stopped to look at them curiously.

The gate opened to the width of a paw, and the face of a black rat looked out. "Tchis?" he asked. His pronounced accent revealed that he was a foreigner.

From his gruff and informal tone, Seshy could tell that he was no house servant. Vaguely offended, she stepped to the front of the group. "You're not the reception." She said.

"Groundskep," the rat replied. "What is it tcha wanten'?"

"Don't you know the housekeeper is to receive guests?"

"Err, we don' see lottuv 'em," he said. Then he added, "Mem."

"Well go back inside and find the housekeeper! We're here to see Madam Layla."

The rat raised his eyebrows at the name. "Wait 'ere." He slammed the gate, and they heard his footsteps recede.

After a long wait, the gate opened wide, revealing a smiling female rat. The foreign groundskeeper lurked in the background and watched them over her shoulder. "Good morning, Madam. Madam," the female said, giving a short bow to each. "I am the housekeeper here. You came for Madam Layla?"

"Yes," Seshy replied. She paused, hesitating to use the identities Inka had planned on. She settled on telling a half-lie. "Please tell her that sisters of her mother are here to see her."

"You can come in," the housekeeper said.

Seshy was taken aback. "You're not going to ask her?"

"Please come in," the housekeeper said again.

Seshy looked back at Inka for help, but she had a far-off look on her face. It appeared she was looking past the gates, surveying the building inside.

They followed the housekeeper in, and were swallowed in shade as the walls shielded them from the morning sun. The grounds inside were like an orchard, filled with young dark-leaved trees just beginning to bloom in lacy clouds of white and gold flowers. Though the trees seemed like something out of the tropics, the ground underneath was yet dry and sandy, just like the ground outside the walls.

The house was grand stone construction, like a castle. In front, the porch boasted a rank of stone columns, topped with totems resembling sea monsters.

"Who is that on the terrace?" Inka asked. Seshy looked up to see faint movement above the porch, though there was greenery there that blocked her view.

The housekeeper looked up. "That's Mister Minua, Madam. Father to Master Bucheff."

"He doesn't work?" asked Inka.

"He is…retired, Madam."

Seshy knew that was wrong. Bucheff had appeared to be in his late thirties. The father would have been in the start of his fifties at least. For a rat, fifty was not young, but Barto was that age and he worked as hard as ever. Patriarchs always held onto their offices as long as they could; retirement meant loss of power over the house. Seshy remembered her last grandfather had kept working until sixty-two, when his brothers were long dead. Even then, Barto had to pressure him to stop.

They entered the porch and the housekeeper said, "Now, Madam Sila will meet you in the receiving room. It may be a moment. She's having a dress fitting upstairs."

With surprising ease, she opened the gigantic wooden doors, and led them into an atrium of the house.

Seshy found her eyes traveling up, up past walls swarming with murals and gilt trim, past a chandelier of prisms, into ceilings that shone sky-blue. It seemed at first like a massive skylight, but was a series of mirrors reflecting the blue tile on the floors. Seshy's breath caught as she contemplated the cost of installing silver or glass at such height. It was no room, but a fractured cave of ice and light, cold with an almost religious aesthetic, yet brilliant with luxury.

Behind her, Pola whispered, "Great Vulpuz."

Seshy forgot her awe for a moment to frown at him. He had been too talkative that morning. A visible servant was a bad one.

"Pretty, isn't it?" came a booming voice, echoing off the walls. A broad female rat looked down at them from a raised level on the other side of the atrium. At the same time, a female stoat went running past them, stuffing fabric into a bag. "Thank you, Jores!" the matron yelled after the stoat as she darted out the door. "I will see you!" She gave an exaggerated sigh, and looked down at Seshy's group again. "Welcome to my home," she said. "I am Sila."

Inka stepped forward and gave a short bow. "It is not a home, Madam. It is a palace, and we are honored."

Sila straightened herself. "Please sit. I will be down shortly." She gestured at a white furniture set below her, which seemed lonely, dwarfed by the remaining space.

Settees and long lounges were arranged around a tiled pool that was the only dark spot in the room, filled with shadows cast by water lilies crowding its surface. The pool gave them something restful to look at, but it separated the seats in a manner awkward for conversation. Truly, the Minua house was not used to guests.

Sila the matron appeared at the mouth of a small arched hallway that, considering the vast size of the front room, seemed something like a capillary leaving a heart. "Good morning, young madams," she greeted, smiling. She gave a bow, and Seshy was startled seeing the fabric of her dresswaist contorted around the rolls of her back. She was hefty. Excessive weight was unusual for black rats, but the matron carried it with such unthinking confidence that Seshy had hardly noticed. Here lived a presence that could not be found among the neat visages of the Bartos.

"Dearest," Sila said, her voice becoming punched with excitement. "Are you pregnant?"

The question was directed at Inka. She opened her mouth to say something, but then paused, looking at the matron from downcast eyes. "It's unlucky in my husbands' house to say so, Madam."

Seshy balked at the ease with which the lie came to her.

The matron Sila clicked her tongue. "Useless superstitions! They're not for sensible rats like us."

Inka placed her paws on her stomach. "You really think so, Madam? It would be my first. We're hoping for it, and all that."

"I'm sure you are, dear." She took Inka's face in her paws, and Seshy noticed slight movement in the shoulders that told of Inka's discomfort. "I remember I used to wear scarves like that too, whenever I carried," the matron said. "My ears would get so cold!" She looked up at Pola. "Your servant looks uncomfortable. Might he wait back in the kitchens while we talk?"

"That would be fine," Seshy replied.

"Aggie," Sila said. "Take the young rat, will you?"

The housekeeper nodded, and motioned for Pola to follow her into another of the little capillary hallways.

"Now, sit." Sila said, bringing Inka to one of the settees. "I'm sorry but I can't for the life of me remember faces."

"That wouldn't surprise me madam," Inka said. "We've never met. I am Inka, and this is my sister, Hunsew." Inka looked Seshy in the eyes, willing her to remember the name.

"You're not from Layla's house?"

"We're from her nest. I am daughter to the sister of her grandmother," Inka said.

"How wonderful!" said the matron. "I've not had contact with my own nest in a long time."

"Madam is not alone in that respect," said Inka. "We haven't seen Layla in a long time either. I knew her as a child, but when her grandmother died…"

"Yes, yes." The matron nodded. "Very sad. Both the mother and grandmother dead. It's no wonder she didn't know how to behave properly."

Something turned in Inka's face. She traded another glance with Seshy, then fastened her eyes on the matron. "Where is Layla, Madam?" Her voice had deepened a touch.

The matron blinked in surprise at the sudden seriousness in Inka's face. "She is at retreat in the hills," she replied coolly. "Pretty child, but a bit difficult, you see. I thought some time away would cool her off."

When Inka failed to respond, Seshy spoke up to distract the matron, "How kind of you, Madam. I wish my own mother-in-laws were as tolerant and level-headed. They would have thrown me out if I ever misbehaved."

"Oh." The matron waved a paw in the air. "I was a young maid once, too." She looked to Inka. "Are you alright, dearest?"

"I'm feeling a bit sick, Madam," Inka replied. "May I go out for some air?"

"Certainly. Here, let me call someone to escort you." She turned and called up. "Monna! Monna, dear!"

After pause, a young male rat, perhaps twelve seasons old, poked his head out of the hallway. "Yes?"

The matron beckoned him forth. "This is my younger son, Monvar."

Monvar bowed. He was a sweet-looking child with narrow eyes full of humor.

"Monna, these are relatives of your wife."

"Oh." His face clouded with worry, and he gave another, hasty bow. "Nice to meet you, Madams."

"Please take Madam…Inka, was it? Please take her outside for some air. She is in a condition."

He nodded, and strode over to the settee to give his arm to Inka. She stood, pulling down on his arm with vicious force. The younger rat was startled, but regained his balance, and Inka let herself be led out the door. Seshy gripped the back of the settee as she watched her leave, chilled by the sudden loneliness, and then she turned back to face the matron, biting back her nervousness.

Outside on the porch, Inka breathed a sigh of relief. She watched as the groundskeeper went around the trees with a bucket in paw. At each tree he poured out water, and when dry he went back around the house to get more. He scowled at them as he passed the porch.

"Where's he from?" Inka asked. She recalled that something in the groundskeeper's accent reminded her of the way Pola talked. Her animosity towards Pola had dissolved, but she was curious yet.

"Him?" Monvar shrugged. "Somewhere out east I think."

"Mossflower?"

"Oh, father than that, Madam."

"And he's a black rat?"

"Of course, Madam."

"Hmm." Inka thought of the face she had seen peering down at her from the terrace, the mysterious old rat that had met eyes with her. She began to head along the colonnade towards the side of the building.

"M-Madam," the young rat said, chasing after her. "Where are you going?"

Inka rounded the corner and stopped, surprised to find that there were no stairs on the side. Monvar almost ran into her. "How do you get to the terrace?" she asked him.

"Why the terrace, Madam?"

"I rather hate the smell of these flowers," she replied, waving a paw at the orchard. "Nausea. Pregnant, you know."

"Oh." Giving a sudden embarrassed chuckle, Monvar looked down at his clasped paws and nodded. "You'd have to go inside to get there."

"Inside?" she asked, incredulous. "Why do you have access inside? Are you not afraid of robbers getting into the house?"

"Um." He seemed to think for a moment, then shrugged.

"Well is there a fast way to get up?" she asked. "Through a back entry perhaps?"

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry for being late this week. I had a couple of final exams to tackle before I could finish this. And good lord are these chapters getting long. Something about Redwall fic seems to encourage long chapters. I had to cut this one in half trying to keep it at 4,000, but that allows me to add some extra stuff to the sequence in the next chapter. On another note, it looks like I've finally worked up to actual POV shifts in-scene. So yes, I am finally writing in proper omniscient with all the bells and whistles!

Interesting fact: the two common species of rat, black and Norway, both originate in Asia. So Groundskeeper may be foreign, but he is more similar to them than they know.

And I have just realized how strange the name Seshy looks. I intended it to be pronounced 'Sesh-ee', but aside from the alternateive 'Sesh-eye' sounding weirder, I suppose it doesn't really matter.

Special thanks to Hamlet and Jade Tealeaf for reviewing. I'm glad you're fascinated, Hamlet.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter 4**_

The bronze wildcat rose from the rubble of Tribal Square, raising its only paw, palm out, in a gesture that could have meant many things. It could have been a salute, though such military flavor had no place in the modest surroundings. It could have been a blessing in the style of the Old Horde. It could have been a simple 'hello', where the cat's paw was frozen in mid-wave.

Effy decided that the gesture meant 'stop'. "_Stop vandalizing me_", the statue seemed to say, in lame and sober anger. _Stop stealing my parts. Stop letting your spawn hang from my arm. Stop urinating on me. Stop with all the messages and obscene pictures. No one cares to know that 'Rhibs was here'._

If it was a ferret statue, Effy thought wryly, maybe beasts would have left it alone. She was quickly finding that with no rat companion, the beasts around her gave her a wide berth, which was a difficult feat considering how crowded it was in the Second Ring. If she walked towards a group, the group drifted away, like oil rejecting soap. If she ran at a beast, they fled. Effy found herself amused at their behavior at first, and then amusement distilled into spite, and she decided to make things difficult. She'd spent the morning running after many a stoat, rat, or weasel, some of whom were kind enough to give her money when threatened.

The creature she had selected as the triumph of her day waited for her, unsuspecting, at the bronze cat.

Clutching her skirts, she crept up to the lean young fox, who crouched with his back to her, scratching something onto the statue base. When she was within a few yards of him, he straightened and tipped his head up, sniffing the air. He'd picked up the ferret-scent.

Effy cleared the space between them in a few bounds, and grabbed onto his shirts as he turned around. She shoved him back against the statue. He let out a mewl, and the tattoos of his shaved snout stretched with the alarm that crossed his face. "Iz ten bronzes fer debasing 'e statue, doggie." Effy growled. "An' I charge five coppers per sniff!"

The fox dug around in his pockets and produced three of the small copper tiles, and one iron-tin.

"Tha'z it?" Effy asked.

"'S all I have wid me!"

Effy brought her face closer to his. "I'll be back tammorow, 'en ye better have the rest." She snatched the tiles from his paw. "That, too," she said, taking the stick of charcoal he had used to mark the statue. She let go of his shirt, and the fox scrambled to his feet and took off. Effy bent to get a look at what he had drawn.

"Impressive," she commented, stroking her chin. "Tis remark'ble likeness. Yon fox's unnerstandin' of th' female were beyond 'is age." She bounced the charcoal in her paw. Effy never learned how to write, but Inka had once taught her how to do her name. "Ee-Iff-Ai-Im-Ee," she recited, scrawling forceful black characters onto the metal. "Efaime." For good measure, she added a sketch of a ferret face with prominent teeth. "My statue naow," she muttered, chuckling to herself.

She stood and stretched, and rolled her sleeves up under the heat of the late morning. Effy detested wearing the rat clothes, sewn for wide rat shoulders and long rat arms. Inka's sister had particularly long measurements. Back in Rapose, Effy had agreed to wear them in the first place because Salmandaster was supposedly much colder than San Petra, and there was no time to get new clothes made. Yet here they were, and it was hot. Running a paw between her collar and neck, Effy looked around for shade.

She settled on what looked to be an eatery, a building much like any house, but where several low tables sat under the shelter of a wooden roof supported by posts. When she went to sit down, the group of weasels sitting at an adjacent table left, as she predicted. The remaining customer was an old rat that had his right cheek shaved, exposing black coin tattoos. He gave her a calm nod and went back to his meal.

"Ent ye scared of me?" Effy asked him.

The rat put down his skewer. He held up a paw, pointing to the wrist. "Ya ain't wearin' a badge," he rasped through his mouthful of food.

Effy moved over to his table. He let out a grunt of annoyance as she sat down across from him. "Badges, eh?" she asked.

"Hunt wears badges when 'ere workin'. 'An if they're not workin', they don' leave th' mountain. So you ain''t Hunt."

"So you've seen 'em?"

"Rat lives long as me, he sees some ferrets."

A lanky rat child appeared at their table. "G'morning, ma'am," he said to Effy. He took the spotty side cloth from his shoulder and quickly wiped down Effy's side of the table.

"Ent ye scared either, boy?" Effy asked.

"Depen's," the little rat said. "'Re you a customer?" He flung the towel over his shoulder again and propped a fist against his hip.

Effy let out a chuckle at the child's bravado. "Sure, boy."

"An' what'll ya be havin'?"

Effy glanced over at the old rat's food inside its shell of brittle paper. It was thin slices of some kind of hard bread, served with a gray cricket paste. "Ugh. Got any meat?" she asked. "Turtle, gull, frog?"

The little rat's eyes grew wide. "Er, we can mabbe git some shrimp, if ye wait long enough."

Effy scoffed. All the beasts in Salmandaster seemed to eat like the poor. "Fly tumblers, then," she said, naming one of the few street foods she liked.

He nodded. "That we kin do. Four ferries."

Effy dug into the pocket sewn into her waist sash and pulled out a few of her winnings from the morning. She picked through them, finding the iron-tins, and then dropped four into the outstretched paw of the child. He shuffled them in his hand, scrutinizing each. He narrowed his eyes at her. "We don't take clipped coins," he said, handing one back.

The old rat sitting across from her let out a snicker. Effy scowled at him. Grumbling, she gave the child another coin. He nodded thanks and went back into the house.

"Ya know," the old rat said. "If ya robbed someone other than young riff-raff, you wouldn't 'ave ta worry 'bout clipped money. I saw what you did wid the fox whelp ov' there."

"What's it to ye?" Effy asked. "Don' worry yer aged 'ead about it."

"Tis yew who needs ta worry," he replied. "Our Foxie be from the Juskabal. Did ye not see his tatoos?"

"What?"

The rat sat back, slapping a palm to his forehead. "I thought ye were new 'ere, but I knew not yer ignorance! Mayer Bal, ferret! Never 'eard of 'im?"

Effy shook her head.

"You should n' stay 'ere," he said. "Ya don' want that dog showin' up at yer door wid 'is beasts."

Effy scoffed. "Did ye not see jes now, how I scared 'e whelp?"

The rat's eyes flashed in anger. He sat forward. "Mabbe one liddle pup's scared of the ferret, but can ya face down a grown dogfox twice yer size? Two of 'em? four? Unless ye have a big pack of yer kind aroun' somewhere, yer in danger naow."

A few streets down from where Effy was being advised about her new troubles, a garden loomed above the rambling buildings of Second Radiant. The garden grew from the money of Bucheff Merchant, for nothing short of kingly wealth could procure and maintain the array of foreign plants that decorated the high terrace of the house. It was this verdant garden, overflowing with flowers of delicate complexity and filled with as much sunshine as the coast could offer, that had become the prison of Minua the rat.

He had watched with interest when their guests entered the gates, and though he longed for conversation, he had not expected them to seek him out. When one of the young females appeared at the door behind him, not only was he astonished, he was amazed at the depth of his astonishment.

When Inka left the shadow of the veranda and came into the sunlight, revealing her face, Minua understood at once why she was there. The resemblance was not exact, but her features had touches of the same mousy softness that had graced Layla's visage. She knelt by his wheelchair and tipped her head in a little bow. Without thinking, she placed a hand on his arm, a gesture perhaps too forward for rats that had never met. It was something quite unlike what Layla would have done.

What he wanted to say to her was,"I know what you want," or, "You won't find her here," but his grandson stood not three feet away, watching him with respectful wariness. While Monvar was not old enough to decipher loaded words well, he would no doubt tell everything to his mother and father.

So instead Minua said to the young rat, "You look like her."

Her eyes lit up. He had expected that. There was not a rat in the world whose soul did not light for family, and no custodian to a child failed to be flattered when compared to that child. "Around the eyes," he added. Layla had the same big, long eyes. At times when she had been in one of her moods, it had seemed like a cat of the Horde glared at him from those eyes.

The new rat's probing stare, however similar, did not obscure the fact that she was no Layla. Her face was too broad, her teeth overgrown, and where Layla reminded him of alert cats and gentle mice, this one had something of the reptile in her.

Then the old rat said sadly, "She used to visit me a lot. I knew her well." His eyes flicked to his grandson.

She nodded in understanding. Minua had put a slight emphasis on "used" and "knew". To his grandson it seemed like a normal and mannered thing to say, but she had caught the implication of the past tense. "I thought as much," she murmured. Then she ventured to say, "It is unfortunate that she was sent away."

Minua tensed. He looked at his grandson, who looked away in shame. Lying among trading rats was a quick way to make enemies. Lying to a relation of the house was unsavory in particular. However, If his house had felt the need to orchestrate some lie, then it was not Minua's place to betray them. Swallowing other words, he said, "Yes. She left some time ago but I still miss her. It was nice, to have some new company for a while."

She frowned at the sudden airiness his voice assumed, open and conversational, yet it closed him up. She looked towards Monvar, no doubt cursing his presence in her mind, and then she stood up to leave. "Perhaps we can come back and keep you company, then."

Minua let out a polite hum.

After she left, with Monvar following at her heels, Minua turned his chair around to face city and sky, and buried his face in his paws. She had threatened to return. This rat was the only one to ever come asking after Layla. She was the only true custodian to the wife of his grandchildren, and he would have to tell lies to her.

* * *

Three stories below, in the kitchens of Bucheff, Polaud sat at the doorway and watched the mild activity as the cook and her assistant prepared the midday meal. He had not seen many kitchens in his life. There was the public one he used in the hills, which was nothing more than a long breezeway with many little brick fire pits, and when at home, he would cook on open fire in the yard with Toda and Worle. Bucheff's kitchen was impressive by comparison. It was enclosed and attached to the house, with a giant masonry pillar against the wall to contain the fire, and a complex of slatted shutters on the other side to let out smoke.

The cook was a wiry female black rat who performed her duties with easy competence, but Polaud could detect something nervous in her manner. This nervousness was something he was familiar with. He had seen it just the night before, from Mem Inka. He had seen it also when he began working for Miss Seesew, who in those days was not accustomed to having a strange male following her around.

"'M I disturbin' you, Mem?" he asked the cook. "Do ye wish me t' wait outside?"

Surprised, the cook looked up from chopping vegetables. "No, Dearie," she said. "It's alright."

Pola blinked. "Ye talk well, Mem."

Cook frowned at him. "This is how good servants need to talk, rat," she said. "My mother trained me for this. She was cook to a great house, and my grandmother a cook too. Don't know where they pulled you from."

"Are good servants s'pposed t' be rude too, Mem?"

"Shut it," she replied. "Quit distracting me. I have to feed thirteen rats by noon. More if your madams decide to stay. And the stupid housekeeper took the other aide."

Polaud looked at her sidelong. "Would you like help, Madam?" he asked, forcing perfect enunciation.

The cook chuckled. "What do you know about cooking?"

"My...landlady taught me." At the thought of Mem Worle, he remembered what she told him: a female servant could get to Madam Layla.

She put down her knife. "Take care of this, then. Simple enough. And wash your hands first, eh? I've to get to the prawns." She turned around to yell at her assistant, who was crouching to light a fire. "Mitta!" The little girl jumped. "Did you remember to open the louvers this time?" Cook asked.

Mitta looked wounded. "Yes, Mamma'."

"Get some water started, then."

As Polaud got to work chopping radishes, he wondered how to bring up the subject of Madam Layla. Cook sat down across from him with her prawns. "What's your name, boy?" she asked casually, digging her claws under the shell of the prawn and prying it apart.

"Pola," he replied.

"Just Pola?"

Polaud paused. He picked up on the intent behind the question, and that was to figure out what kind of rat he was. He'd heard it often, and become bitter to it, because he knew that few other rats were asked such things in the same way. "Alpola," he muttered. It was the name Worle had suggested to him when he started working, to help him fit in with the black rats.

The cook nodded, satisfied.

Polaud asked an intrusive question in return. "Do you like your job?"

She gave a start. "What?"

"You don't like the other servants," he observed.

"It's doesn't matter whether I like them or not," she said, eyes stubbornly fixed on her work. "This house can be infuriating sometimes."

"Do you think..." Polaud hesitated. "...Do you think Madam Layla is alright here?"

There was a clink as Cook set down her knife. Mitta stared at him from across the room. "I don't know," Cook said. "She's gone. I didn't spend much time around her before she left."

"She left?" Pola asked. "Why'd she leave?"

"It's not my place to talk about that."

From the chill in her tone, Pola knew questioning time was over. He returned to chopping the radishes in the awkward silence, until the time that Inka came looking for him, having slipped away from her escort.

"You've found another job, I see." Inka looked drained, leaning on the door frame for support.

The cook and Mitta stopped their work and stood up immediately to bow. She nodded at them, waving a paw for them to sit down.

"Hello, Mem!" Pola said, putting aside the cutting board and jumping to his feet. "I offered to help."

She blinked at the formal enunciation playing in his voice. "Um, sure. Come on, then, I think we ought to leave. Sounds like there's an argument on out front."

* * *

In the society of the trading rats, whose purview was wares and the buildings that stored wares, workers and the buildings that stored those workers, and children and the buildings that stored those children, the highest taboo was the one that put those assets at risk. Every father knew to watch his children carefully, that they did not develop the one trait that often poisoned vermin, and that trait was selfishness. A rat needed allies to succeed, and in that greedy world the family were his allies. Any house that sprouted rivalries within was sure to collapse.

It dawned on Seshy as she endured small talk with the matron that the family of Bucheff had germinated selfishness and myopia long ago, and the only reason their house had not imploded in conflict was that Bucheff had no brothers to fight with.

"What sort of education did you have in your family, dear?" the matron asked, reclining in her lounge. Her tail fell to the side, but stopped short of touching the floor, and waved back and forth with tense grace under the seat. She beamed like the sun printed on copper money. Seshy recognized this as a forced smile, not a lie but more of a tacky habit, developed by those who were eager to please. It was repulsive, Seshy thought, that this rat who could buy half the city should grin at her like some servant or laborer.

"The usual," Seshy replied. "Reading, writing, calligraphy, and bookkeeping."

"Hmm." The matron tipped her chin up. "My daughter was taught music," she said, drawing the last word out with great satisfaction.

Seshy bit back her irritation at the pompous lilt. Bragging was one thing, but stealth bragging was the unrefined territory of woodlanders. "Music is not rare rubies to be fawned over, Madam. Some of the brothers in my house learned things like that. Drums, horns, and so on."

The matron waved a paw in the air. "Common dribble, that is. No offense to the brothers, dear. My girl learned classic instruments."

"Classic," Seshy repeated dryly.

"She sang too," the matron chirped. "Oh, when she was here, it was never quiet. I do miss her. It's always a bit sad when they leave and get married. I'm sure you know."

"Yes, it was very sad for us when Layla got married."

The matron chuckled. "I meant _you_, dear."

It was Seshy's turn to smile nervously. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry. It's just...well, Layla has been on our minds lately." She paused, thinking. "Madam. I know it's improper, but would it be possible for us to go visit Layla in seclusion? We would be willing to go with you or one of your servants, or anyone you're comfortable with."

"That sounds like a wonderful proposition, but she has to learn her lesson, no? Visitors would not help that."

"What exactly did she do wrong, Madam?"

"Frankly, you'd be humiliated if you knew! There's a reason we haven't told her house. I think I'll spare you the disgrace, dear. Just thank me for not asking a refund on the dowry!" She laughed.

Seshy was growing frustrated with her caginess. "Madam, I have been very patient, but I don't like things being kept from me, especially when it comes to..." Seshy paused. "...family." She closed her eyes briefly, and sent up something of a prayer asking her mother and fathers to forgive her for calling Layla family.

"Well now I see that Layla got her spirit from her mother's side!" The matron seemed to think for a moment. 'What was the name again?"

Matron had dodged the question once more. "Kopersa," Seshy muttered, seething inside.

"And on your father's side?"

Seshy saw that question coming. "Eesetta," she replied confidently. Sees Merchant was no fool, and neither were Seesew and Seshy Barto. She knew the matron's questions were an attempt to wring her true identity from her. As matron had already broken many rules of social conduct, Seshy had no qualms about feeding her lies. Lying, conniving rats deserved to be lied to. No doubt every name Seshy gave would be noted, and no doubt Matron would later send beasts to look for the nonexistent Eesetta family.

"Eesetta. Your father never shortened his name?"

"Unlike some rats, he has no patience for showing off."

"I have never heard of that house before," the matron mused. Either she was choosing to ignore Seshy's jabs, or she was not aware of them.

"Perhaps your ears can only hear dog names."

"Pardon?" the matron asked, though the sharpness in her voice made it evident that she'd registered an insult.

"Dogs, madam. Your sons, named like fox-dogs. Your husband, is he some fox of the Horde, to be called Bucheff? And you! Are you so far removed from us, that you've lost all conditioning, you twit?" Elated by the sound of her voice echoing around the chamber, Seshy went on, "No rats live here. Evasive dogs you are! mice! Where is Layla? Where is she?"

The silence that followed proved to Seshy that the matron had clamped down on her secrets, whatever they were, and her hesitation in responding to the insults proved her guilt. Sees looked past her glowering face, a face she no longer cared to acknowledge. Inka stood there under the arch of the capillary hallway, observing in silence, a shocked Pola looking out over her shoulder. There seemed a great distance between her dark, calm eyes, and Seshy's anger boiling within. "We're leaving, Inka."

"So we are," Inka said.

Sila the matron stood up. "You're damned right you're leaving," she growled. "Fine manners you have, girl! Get out!"

The three rats left the house of Bucheff, each comprehending some part of the fog. Polaud had come to understand the extreme secrecy and coldness that pervaded the house, and he was thankful for never having occasion to go to the old Barto home. He could not imagine dealing with so many black rats who, as far as he had seen, were arrogant and temperamental.

Inka was grim in the realization that no one in the family cared enough about Layla to tell the truth. It spoke ill of how she had been treated there, and she seemed farther away than ever.

Seshy, thanks to her well-bred bluntness, had come to know both of those things, and more.

"They were lying to us," Sehsy remarked as they rounded a corner and the house vanished. She clutched Inka's arm, not for support, but out of the need to make contact.

"And they no longer deserve our face," Inka said. "I know."

* * *

**A/N:** I think it's safe to say I'll be updating irregularly for the next month or so, as my new round of summer classes are proving to be a headache. Chemistry, why are you in my life? If I have to hear the word "aromaticity" one more time, I may slap someone.

This chapter was pretty difficult, particularly trying to find a balance between close and far narrative distance. I also tried to cut down on dialogue, because there's so much talking going on everywhere that it would have been 90% "talky talk talk" otherwise. So far, my strategy has consisted of either 'zooming in' so close that I have to describe every action and feeling of the narrator, or backing the narration so far out that the talking is skimmed over. The transitions between these two modes are...rough to say the least. Once again, feedback would be welcome.

To Hamlet: Yes, I think I understand what you're saying about the sentence structure, and I went back and tried to tweak some of them.

I've been trying to learn Illustrator and Photoshop, and the cover image was a fun little exercise to do. I'm uploading another one shortly, and maybe that suits the story better, Hamlet? It's a similar composition, but a painting instead of a graphic image, so reads less *drama, you guys*. And who is that posh fellow in the portrait, glancing stage right? I didn't have any particular character in mind, but we'll say it's young Barto.

Barto: "I've yet to make an appearance, author."

Blackish: "Ssshhhh! What are you doing out here anyway? Shouldn't you be busy oppressing your children or something?"

_The end._ Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go crawl under a rock and sleep forever. If I wake up, I'll try to get a couple reviews done.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter 5**_

"Unbelievable," Seshy muttered. Heads down, the three rats burrowed through narrow gullies in the second ring on their way to meet Effy. Dark windows and doorways swept by, concealing staring beasts and children that shrank from them as they passed. Their finery and wealthy bearing attracted attention, but it was Seshy's ranting that drove beasts indoors. "Unbelievable, the way she talked," Sees went on. "Horrid, horrid excuse for a rat! I forgot how insipid these social calls could be."

"So she spoke a bit carelessly" Inka said. "I, for one, happen to like insipid conversation." Inka gave Seshy a nudge to the shoulder. "But this Sees is gifted. She should have been more gentle to that poor lonely housewife." Inka stopped short of mentioning that her outburst had gotten them kicked out of the house.

Seshy sighed. "No, that's just it. That wasn't words back there. She _knew_, Inka."

"She knew that we were not..."

"She knew something." Seshy hugged Inka's arm closer. "She was hiding something. I've seen this behavior before. They don't have Layla."

They ducked to avoid a clothesline in their way, and Inka took childish delight in realization that the two of them were walking in step with each other. "What do you mean you've seen it before?" she asked.

Seshy replied, with no small amount of bitterness, "When you left, Inka. What could Barto do but tell others that you'd gone missing? What could Eesett do but go on fake searches for you? Granted, the Minuas are not making any great efforts to look like they care, but they lost a daughter-in-law, not their own daughter."

Inka's face had grown miserable. "They lied for me."

"Of course! What would everyone think, if they knew one of our own females ran from us? You think anyone would want to marry into that kind of house?" Sheshy forced breath out her nostrils. "What's happening now is not so different from what happened then. They've lost her and they're trying to save face. Consider this: if they had Layla still, could they not just parade her in front of us, and we'd leave happy?"

Inka patted her hand to get her to stop talking. "Alright, alright. So if they don't have her, we have no idea where she is."

"Someone else will," Seshy replied. "We only need to find them. It must be made known that we're looking for her. I've had enough of this secrecy tripe."

"I don't think I know anyone here anymore."

"I admit, I don't have that many contacts either. I've been out for...well, who knows how long. We need someone else."

Silence descended on them, and in the absence of their own voices, the strange lack of noise in the street was even more apparent. Pola was quiet as well, content to walk behind them and let the bickering carry on.

"We would have to involve the family," Inka said.

Seshy gave a start. "Is that what this is about?" she hissed. "You come swaggering all this way to look for Layla, but having to see the family again is too much for you?"

"It's not just that," Inka insisted. "What's the point of showing myself? I'd just cause a scene. You go. Go ask Barto for help. I'll..."

"Stay hidden," Seshy said. "Like a thief. That is what you are, is it not?"

It was appropriate. Left to her own devices, Inka would always try to weasel out of things. She had spent childhood enveloped in the ultimate privilege: security, not just in wealth but in belonging. Whatever the state of her recent life in San Petra, Inka in her youth had been bright and well-loved. The elder rats hovered over her, and treated her with the same care one gave to a sprouting plant, and handled her with the same tenderness and humor shown to butterflies. It was a gift of personality that Seshy coveted all her life, and if there was anything greater than that privilege, Sees knew, it was the privilege to take it for granted. Twelve seasons before, Inka proved that she had both by running off. Then, the twin mantles of responsibility and blame had fallen on Seshy. She had worn them since.

"There is something more important at stake." Seshy said. "Too important for fear."

"I wouldn't call it fear," Inka said. "And it's not the only route to her, is it?"

Anger flared in Sees' eyes, and she turned to Inka intending to snap a retort. Then her long-dormant conciliatory training kicked in, and like a candle being blown out, her anger was dampened. "There are more important things," she said again. She realized that she had gripped onto Inka's sleeve. Embarrassed at her lack of control, Sees let her paw unfurl, releasing Inka from her hold. With the same paw, she then dusted off the front of her skirt. "I am going to Shalin, and whether or not you wish to show yourself, the family will know your presence. Do what you will."

Inka had planned out in advance what she wanted to do. She would break into that acidic Bucheff house, and crack the dam that restrained their secrets. Like all things, it needed to be done at the first opportunity. Inka envisioned it done that very night. She had a decent idea of how the house was laid out, because she'd paid attention when generous young Monvar showed her around. It was easy to get inside through the terrace or the kitchen. The only problem was the walls. The walls required the attention of a specialist. "Pola?" Inka said.

The servant bounded forward to walk in line with her. "Yes, Mem?"

"That rat you told me about, your brother, you say he knows a lot of beasts?"

"Oh, Win knows everyone, Mem."

"Does he know any foxes around here?"

"Well, I s'ppose he does know a fair number, but why d' you want ta mess wid foxes, Mem?"

"What's happening, Inka?" Seshy asked. "Foxes?"

"Nothing," Inka said to her. "I just brought a little copper with me from Rapose, and I wanted to find a moneychanger. So, Pola, is this Win around here somewhere?"

"You want to meet 'im Mem?" Pola chirped. "I kin take you to the house!"

"We can't stay here too long. These streets are not safe," said Seshy. She glared at a couple of old stoats crouching at the side of the street.

"Oh, don't worry, it's just some quick business. If you want, we can split up. You take Effy home. I'll go with Pola."

Seshy snorted. "Yes, the ferret. I feel much better."

"At least she'll keep you safe," Inka said. "That's for certain."

* * *

Effy the ferret owned two things that could be called weapons. The larger one, a curved cutlass, had been left in Rapose with a colleague, because otters didn't allow vermin passengers to take personal weapons onto their boats. The smaller, which they succeeded in smuggling to Salmandaster, was a knife with a blade the length of her paw. That knife was with Inka. It was agreed early on in their partnership that a rat would get more use out of a little knife than a ferret, because a ferret was built with many little knives called teeth.

Effy didn't mind letting Inka have her knife, as their normal work did not require any great amount of fighting. But in the wake of the possibility of a group of foxes coming after her, she found herself cursing her generous nature, and spent an inadvisable amount of time doing so.

Following this, she had a stroke of insight, and asked to buy the weapon of the old juska rat she had met, the rat with the coin tattoos.

His was not a weapon so much as it was a tool. It was a machete, weighty as knives went, with a broad blade that ended in an angled edge rather than a point. Raposers called them star knives, as many of the larger ones came from Salmandaster. Indeed, they were one of the few things manufactured by Salmandaster vermin. In San Petra, beasts used them to clear undergrowth in the deepest forests, as the knives were better suited to that task than the corsair swords of the Isles.

Coin-Rat claimed that his particular machete was an antique, a feature that he found enriching.

Effy squinted. "Ya want _how_ much fer it?"

"Lookid it," the rat said, drawing the knife from its scabbard. "Tradishonal blade wi' d' sun design etched in, and the hil' in jaw-o'-shark." He fingered the split at the end of the hilt, which did resemble the open maw of some animal, although Effy could not see a shark in it. "This 'ere sawrd belong to the first rats 'et come 'ere. The firz 'orde. Can' sell it to ye fer less 'n fowrty copp'rs."

"Dun look that old," Effy muttered.

"Propar maintenance!" the rat said. "Y' take care of e', it'll last anudder 'undred seasons."

Effy rubbed her forehead, chuckling. It was obvious that the rat was swindling her, but she needed the knife. "How 'bout this," she growled, slapping a paw on the table. "Th' both of us know e' knife ent worth much. I been here not two days an' I seen a dozen of 'em aroun'. I give you instead whatever I hev in m' pocket. S' th' best deal ye get."

"Sold!" The rat declared.

Effy shook her head at him and emptied out her pouch. The rat duly handed over his knife, along with its makeshift scabbard of bark bound tight with string.

"Erm," the rat said, sifting through the tiles, "More clipped ones 'ere."

Effy tightened her grip on the knife, narrowing her eyes. "May I remind yew, I'm the un with the weapon, naow?"

The rat rolled his eyes. "Fine," He said, bouncing the coins in his paw. "Jus' f' you. I might know un dog who ken take care o' these."

In the afternoon, Inka and Seshy arrived in Tribal Square, swarmed in attention. Effy, as a predator, had received a stronger reaction, but in that land of poor laborers, petty thieves, and Juska beasts with patchy work history, two clean rats wearing fancy gowns were just as suspicious as the ferret. Inka and Seshy were treated with their own variety of fear, a fear of authority, long conditioned into the minds of poor beasts.

"Tribals," Seshy growled, watching the beasts in the square. "Did we have to come this far in?"

Effy had waited for them, lurking in shady streets adjacent to the courtyard. In their bright-colored dress, it did not take her long to notice them.

"Psst!" she hissed at them, clinging to a wall for safety.

Inka turned at the noise, and narrowed her eyes at the sight of her friend crouching in the shadows, flapping a paw to beckon her. "Grief." Inka went and sat down next to Effy in the shade. What is it, Eff?"

"We need to get outta here, I got bally foxes after me!"

"Bally foxes?" Seshy asked, as she and Pola came in to sit.

Pola snickered "Bally foxes." He paused. "Wait, you don't mean the Juskabal?"

Effy nodded, clutching her new knife to her chest.

"Then y' need t' leave," he said, a hiss entering his voice. "Foxes're bad enough. Mayer Bal's insane!"

"Take her home, Seshy," Inka said. "Quick as possible."

"Right now? Are you sure?"

Pola growled. "Now, Miss!" He stamped the ground. "I don' mean t' be rude, but ya gotta go now!"

Effy jumped up, and pulled Seshy to her feet. "Don't touch me!" Seshy snapped. But with the urgency of the matter piled on, she stood, dusting herself off. "How do we get back to the big street?"

Pola hopped up and shook his head. "No main streets. I'll take ye part way through un different route, an' I tell ya how t' get back from there."

"Yer not comin'?" Effy asked him.

"Na, I'm takin' Mem t' meet m' brother."

Effy looked wounded. "Yer leavin me fer some stupid male?" she demanded, giving Inka a rough shove.

* * *

The Juskawarranter lived in the upstairs of a house that seemed to have come together out of parsimony, constructed in a mosaic of masonry, wood, thatch, and even fabric and paper. In Second Ring, it was a common mode of construction. Wealthier creatures sometimes joked about things being "Juskabuilt". Materials were expensive, so they made the dwellings of whatever could be found or pilfered.

The buildings, despite lacking trained architects, were surprisingly solid. Many beasts had worked at one time or another on building things for the traders, and so they had some knowledge of good construction. They took few safety risks. The houses never exceeded two stories in height, and the rooms within were small and utilitarian. Yet, poor vermin were as fond of decoration as their wealthier cousins, and the houses sometimes wore interesting flourishes, like lattice or a muraled wall or a bridge across the street. The result was an uneven dwelling that clattered in ornaments and paint, but hugged the ground, cheerful and nervous at the same time. Often it was joined to neighboring houses, so that they looked as if they held each other up, and should one collapse, so would many others.

For their slot, the warranter rats had no door. Previous inhabitants had instead installed a small metal gate, which had probably been stolen from somewhere. In the winter, they covered it with canvas to keep the draft out. Larkert kept guard in the nights, sleeping next to it, and there was no sight as assuring as him snoring away undisturbed in the mornings.

Thanks to their adventures the night before, Larkert and Warranter had slept in. Seeing as Rhibs refused to wake up until they did, the only one up at their regular time was Records. He went out in the morning to cancel Warranter's appointment with Bres the weasel and Kazan the sotat. Upon his return, he pulled the chest of cooking implements from under Chief's cot, and went to the yard behind the house to break fast. He returned from the kitchens with a clay pot of soupy porridge. Some of it he left out for his modest tribe, and the rest he took down to the street, where skinny children had learned to wait for him. The grain went to their paws, and they carried it away on narrow blade feet.

He glanced over his shoulder now and again, frightened of Rhibs or Warranter coming to the door and seeing how he was wasting their money. What he didn't realize was that someone observed him from the other direction.

"Is this him?" Inka asked.

Pola leaned over her shoulder. "Na, that's Records. Winder must be upstairs."

Inka hesitated. "You didn't mention they were gray rats. Or tribals."

Pola scoffed. He had become somewhat ornery, Inka thought, perhaps due to fatigue."You wouldn've come if I did. I know 'ow you rats think."

At his sniping, Inka closed her eyes. "Are you a gray rat, Pola?"

"Well, I'm not gonna to tell you now." Pola crossed his arms. "Ye'll just have t' handle not knowin'."

The street swarmed with them. Deep in the tribal settlement of Second Ring, every house was filled with Juska, and Juska rats were exclusively gray. Inka hugged the wall, having never been so exposed in her life.

"You said he was your brother."

"'All rats are my brothers.' Didn't y' mother ever teach you that?"

"Ah." Inka clicked her tongue. "Quaint." Laborers, both black and gray, still subscribed to the outdated custom of calling every rat, and sometimes every beast, brother or sister. It seemed the Juska rats had caught it as well. It was absurd to Inka that they should follow such conciliatory traditions, considering their rough reputations. Or perhaps they needed those traditions to restrain them from uncivil behavior.

On San Petra, there were not many gray rats. Most were sailors that never stayed long, but the few that permanently lived in Rapose were terrifying city guards, who were known to be corrupt and violent. There were always stories flying around about them beating, raping, killing prisoners. Inka shuddered. Even in Salmandaster, her parents had always told her to be careful around the gray laborers.

_"Don't hold eye contact with them when you go to the warehouses, Reinuka." _

_"Don't smile at them."_

_"Make sure you cover up."_

So went the litany of her four-headed father, and so she had gone with downcast eyes whenever she went near the laborers. She had not been allowed at all around tribals. Inka imagined the horrified expressions they would have had on their faces, upon being told their daughter ventured alone into a nest of Juska.

The little gray before them seemed harmless as he poked around in front of his house, and he must have had some capacity for compassion, as he had just fed children. Yet there was no guarantee the rest of them would be as soft.

Others watched curiously as the two shadows, Inka and Pola, skipped across the street. Records glanced up at the movement, and when he saw Inka he stood, eyes wide.

"Pola!" he hissed.

"This is Mem Inka," Pola said. "She wants to talk t' Winder."

Records put up a paw to stop him. "Child. You didn' need te bring her here." He glanced around, noting that neighbors were beginning to stare. The children across the street had ceased playing. Behind them, in the first-floor doorway of the home, Hestia, chieftain of the Juskahess, peered out, scowling at the well-dressed black rat.

"Come t' the back," Records muttered.

* * *

Warranter slept.

They waited far into the late afternoon for him to wake up, but he slept on. Records became irritated enough to start poking at Chief until he stirred. Warranter waved a paw at him and mumbled something before turning over. Records sighed. "Wake up, Winder."

"'S Warranter," he mumbled, opening one eye.

Like clockwork, Larkert and Rhibs also began to shift and yawn and rub at their eyes.

"I hope you went n' talked t' Kazan t'day," Warranter said, still lying aimlessly in bed, staring at the ground.

"That I did," Records said. He rubbed the side of his face, swollen from when Kazan had hit him. "They got me fer that 'un."

Warranter sighed. "Thanks, brother. That were a load off."

"Dun be happy yet," Records said. "You gotta lady waitin' fer ye downstairs."

Warranter squinted. "What?"

Larkert jumped to his feet and looked out the door.

"Other side," Records told him.

Larkert, grinning wide, ran to the window on the opposite side of the room and climbed out onto the rickety balcony. Rhibs flew out behind him.

"It ain't that excitin'," Records muttered. Still drowsy, Warranter sat up, observing his beasts through half-closed eyes.

Chief Hestia of downstairs poked her tattooed head in through their door. "Get rid of her," growled the stocky rat. "She's scarin' m' beasts."

As Records stood up to go placate Hestia, Rhibs appeared again in the window. "'S true, Chief. Lady rat, downstairs!"

"A black rat." Larkert's disappointed voice floated back to them. "Looks like Pola brought her." He climbed back inside. "Dun get too excited, Winder, she's probably one a' _them_. Ya got no chance w' 'er."

"Not excited," Warranter muttered, face in paw. "Not even sure wuz 'appening."

Rhibs grabbed his arm, and pulled him to the window. Warranter signed and stepped out onto the balcony, a narrow path of slats with no railing. He crouched low and edged his way around the wall, vigilant of the platform collapsing beneath him.

In the shady courtyard behind the house, she sat placid on the rock wall underneath their small twisting tree, her legs crossed and paws folded in a prim and closed-off fashion. She looked up without looking up, her head tipped downward, her eyes watching them through a lowered brow. Behind her, Polaud leaned against the tree in his usual relaxed manner. He grinned and waved when he saw Warranter come out. Warranter lifted his paw in an unenthusiastic acknowledgement, and then let it fall.

"She wouldn't leave," Records hissed, climbing out behind Rhibs and Warranter. Sat there all day, waitin' ta talk to ya."

"You could've woken me up earlier," Warranter said.

"Not for that rude bint," Records replied.

"Rude?"

"Not rude, 'xactly. She nev'r said much, but...you know how rich rats act," Records said. "If Kazan and Bres have t' wait for ya, then so does she."

"Are you just going to keep whispering amongst yourselves?" Inka called up. She crossed her arms out of impatience, and also to protect herself from the watching eyes of many rats.

Pola left his tree and crouched down next to Inka. "You shouldn't talk to him like that, Mem," he whispered. "He is a leader here, not one of yer workers."

It clicked in Inka's mind that this was a precarious situation, not only for her but for this Winder as well. The rat looked peeved at being yelled at. Leaders cared about their reputation. They cared about looking bad with other beasts around, and indeed, other juska beasts in the first floor of the house were watching her. Thus Inka would have to act in a way that flattered him.

After muttering with his beasts some more, the Winder rat crawled to the end of the balcony. It was rather repulsive to see a grown rat crawl over anything, Inka thought. He hopped down, and to her relief, he stood up after landing on the ground. Inka stood as well, as a gesture of respect, and she pulled back the scarf over her head and offered a quick bow. It was the type of thing the laborers did when a forebeast or supervisor came by.

Warranter's eyes widened. He glanced around at the other beasts, as if looking for a cue on how to act. He settled on giving a clumsy bow himself, and called for someone to bring out a seat for him. Records borrowed the highest stool he could find from the kitchen shack. Rhibs hopped down from the balcony and shooed away the children gathered at the ground door. There were Hess females watching from the windows, and with a smug grin he reached in and closed the shutters in their faces.

Inka waited, watching Warranter from the corner of her eyes. Up close, he was not very intimidating or leader-like. He was tall in comparison to her, but not so in comparison to other grays. He had the blocky features typical to gray rats, but his face was full and round, so that he appeared quite amicable. Aside from that he had the type of unremarkable looks that could get lost in a crowd. Instead of that place, in that dark yard, she might have seen him first in a warehouse as a laborer, on the river working a ferry, carrying bricks on the Bucheff construction site, or loitering around with young rats on Seshy's street after dark. Perhaps that was the key to his pervasive presence. Winder knew everyone, as Pola had explained to her, and that was because Winder could be anyone.

When they settled, he on the stool, and she back on the rocks, the onus fell on her to start talking. Inka cleared her throat. "Winder, is it?"

"Warranter," he said bleakly.

"I'm sorry. Warranter. My name..." she paused, debating whether to use an honorific. She had been Madam in the Bucheff house, but then she was in disguise. It was the true Inka that spoke to Warranter, and she did not have the status to be called Madam or Mistress. In truth she, a criminal, was little better than the grays themselves. Perhaps she would even be called Sister. "Inka," she said, somewhat humbled. "Just Inka is fine. I wanted to thank you for helping us."

"What else do you want?" he growled.

Inka looked up, staring a gray rat in the eye for the first time, and she saw his once bemused face darken with mistrust. Like most grays, he had been cured for much of his life in a salt of fear and poverty. It thickened his skin, like the armor of an insect, and left him with many wary eyes, which saw in all directions except forward. That was the problem with them, they were incapable of seeing forward. Everything was a lie or a con or an excuse to fight.

"Armored, Brother?" Inka asked, with an innocent tilt of her head. "You don't need armor against me." She latched onto the safety of the entreaty, the word brother. A brother would not advance on her. A brother would not hurt her. "Pola tells me that you are the type that knows many beasts. Is that true? You know the goings-on around here?"

"I'm the only Warranter in this 'ere settlement, or at least, I'm the only one 'ere that does poor beasts. They come to me, so is 'ard t' avoid knowin' 'em."

"Ah, you're an actual warranter. I thought that was just your name." That was the best possible scenario for her. A warranter would be familiar with the laws, but a gray rat, especially one that catered to poor beasts and criminals on a regular basis, would not stop her from breaking them. she figured that he took bribes, just like the gray officers on San Petra.

Inka smiled at him, and enjoyed watching the confusion return to his face. "You know, they say a rat's power depends not on who he is, but on who he knows? I have always been able to find the beasts I needed to know." She waved a dismissive paw in the air. "A small gift. Perhaps you have that gift, too. Then we are not so different."

"Who d' ya need, Sister?"

"At the moment? A seer doctor."

He let out a short, explosive bark of laughter at the unexpected answer. "An' what ails ya?"

"A fortress," Inka replied. "Four walls, and one big red gate. I'm sure you've seen it. It's got talismans the size of otters all over it."

For a moment, Inka suspected that he hadn't understood. Then he gave wary reply: "Why would un lady like yew have a sickness like that? Ya don' look short a' money."

"It's not money I'm after. It's a maid."

"Now those're rare," Warranter replied.

"I'm being serious, Warranter."

"Are you?" he asked. "It's hard t' tell." He looked down at his feet. "What makes you think I'll 'elp ya?"

"You helped us before."

"I helped _Pola_," he said. "Look, Sister, beasts get in trouble 'ere all the time. They go missing. They get killed. We try 'n' deal with it civil. We use money, words. You should try that, afore ya resort t' trespassin' and gettin' yerself on the bad side of th' law. Ya don't want the Horde lookin' at yew like they look at us."

"Does Warranter talk down to me?"

"That he does," Warranter said, giving a sharp nod. "Ya don't know what yer gettin' yerself into."

"_We_," she said pointedly, "know what needs to be done. These rats are not worth talking to. We must pursue other methods."

"'T wouldn't be right fer me t' get involved in these things, Sister," he said, but there was something light in his voice that told Inka he wasn't serious. "I'm a servant of th' law."

Inka glanced around briefly to note those present. They were all either his beasts or hers. Little gray and Weasel stood some distance away, their paws clasped mannerly before them. They mirrored Pola, who stood in similar fashion behind her. Hefty gray waited by the building, guarding them from the eyes of the other Juska within. Satisfied that they were alone for the most part, she leaned forward and asked, "Would a hundred convince you to do some moonlighting?"

"In copper?" he shrieked. Plaques?"

At the prospect of money, all the Juska scrambled from their posts and rushed over to them. Records muttered something in Warranter's ear, prompting him to give a counter-offer. "One-twenty? Lucky number, you know?"

Inka thought for a minute, and sat back, folding her arms. "One-sixty is luckier still. How's one-sixty?"

"What world 'ave I fallen into?" Records asked.

Rhibs frowned. "Wait." He wrote imaginary tables in the air with a finger. "Ten-by-sixteen, so five and two and eight...so four...One-sixty is not luckier..."

Records waved a paw at him. "Shut up! Shut up!"

"Marry me, Marm?" asked Larkert.

Inka was startled by his forwardness. "Ah, you'll have to wait in line," she replied, forcing a laugh.

Records was beaming. "One-sixty! That's forty percent of Kazan's whole settlement!"

"Yeah, save up an' ye could buy yourself a new weasel," Rhibs muttered.

"You will have to do some extra things," Inka said. "For one, I need a moneychanger to put that one-sixty in copper, as well as payment for the seer. Find me a jeweller fox, one that's resourceful and not too squeamish about unconventional practices. And the seer fox, have her meet me at the big house around midnight. If she shows up, I will return within two days to have the money changed. You will receive it in installments over the next month. Forty per week."

Warranter frowned. "Installments? We don' do that kind of thing."

"Well, _we_ do," Inka said. "Any proper business does. What are your normal fees?"

"Don' have set amounts," said Warranter.

"Chief's one o' the tradishonalists," Rhibs said, clapping warranter on the shoulder. "Our fee depends onna capactiy of th' client."

"So for a client with money?" Inka asked him.

"We dun have many wid a lotta money. Th' few we did 'ave, range between four an' twenty plaques, dependin' on complexity."

"And these things I'm asking you to do, are they very complex?"

Rhibs shook his head.

"Then you hardly have grounds to complain, when I'm offering you eight, ten, sixteen times what you normally make."

"An' why are ya givin' us so much?" asked Warranter, ever the vigilant one.

"We'll call it a retainer. I'm buying your services for the next month," Inka said. "I'm not used to the town, you see, and I'll need someone who knows his way around to get things done."

"An' we can still do other jobs in the meantime?" Records asked.

"Fine," Inka said. "So long as it doesn't interfere with our work."

* * *

**A/N:** Long chapter, but I like it. Thank you for the reviews, Jade TeaLeaf, Saraa Luna, OTORIventures, Airan's Enigma, and Hamlet, and thank you for your patience.

To Hamlet: Yeah, that fox thing was pretty tacky of me, wasn't it? I'll try to cut down on unnecessary innuendo, but there are a few other things in the story that you might object to. I've hinted pretty strongly that they practice polygamy, for example. That's something I can't cut out, so in case you haven't caught the references before, I should warn you now that it will come up in future chapters. Also, thank you for pointing that out about Effy. I think maybe I got carried away with her. I should probably watch out that she doesn't become one of those goofy comedic sidekicks.

In other news, I have _very sneakily_ started a deviantart account (~EnBlackish) where I can deposit my illustrations from this story. It's still in its infancy, but go check it out if you want to see how messy my painting really is!


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